


sleepy towns and cemeteries

by cedarcries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Bisexual Allura (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bulimia, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Adam (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lotor (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), One-Sided Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Past Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), References to Drugs, Self-Harm, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Lust, its pretty much a trashy teen drama, why is there no questioning shiro tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarcries/pseuds/cedarcries
Summary: if you just took a quick glance at the town of garrison -- if you looked out the window while passing by -- you'd assume that it was perfect. picturesque, in that nostalgic, toys-in-the-driveway, family-owned-diners-and-only-one-mcdonalds sort of way.you'd think it was perfect until you paid attention.(aka keith and lance are small town idiots who have no idea how to deal with their gay as hell feelings for each other — also they are Very Angsty And Tortured)
Relationships: Acxa/Lotor (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Ezor/Zethrid (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 64





	1. the kind of glow only a city knows

**Author's Note:**

> oh heck this is awful
> 
> so this is a rewrite of a really dramatic and cringey fic i wrote back in 2018, it's probably bad, plz enjoy

Eyes.  
So many eighteen-year-old sets of eyes, and nearly all of them trained on him. Keith just wanted to do his English project in peace, for one goddamn time.  
Seriously. Garrison was a pretty conservative town, yeah, but still...  
It was like no one in this fucking school had laid sight on a gay person before.  
(Keith had never officially come out as gay, actually. Only to Pidge -- but Pidge would never tell anyone; she wasn't that kind of person. Hell, Pidge was gay too. It wasn't her fault that everyone here knew.) (It was probably the trail of stereotypical breadcrumbs that Keith left everywhere he went... red and black flannel, ripped black jeans. The way he refused to make eye contact in the locker rooms without blushing, the way he wasn't a misogynistic pig like the rest of the boys in his school...)  
Anyway. Everyone hated him.  
It was probably the combination of the sum of Keith's parts that made him stand out like a sore thumb. Gay, thin, Asian, quiet, dressed a little bit more emotive hardcore than he would've preferred to be...  
He was just different. And in Garrison, different meant odd, and odd meant threatening.  
He was a fighter, though.  
Ever since his dad left, Keith had been dragged to therapy, forced to squeeze little round balls until he stopped wishing that he'd just explode...  
But those feelings never went away. The anger.  
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday -- like a religious routine -- Keith would head to the infamous stretch of concrete between two old, abandoned storefronts just a ten minute walk from the school (affectionately nicknamed by the student body of Garrison Secondary as 'The Alley') and beat the shit out of somebody.  
And he rarely lost.  
Which only infuriated the other kids more.  
(Keith guessed they just hated to lose to a skinny little Asian gay kid. Man. The ultimate insult to white masculinity.)  
The first time he'd fought was in ninth grade, when he and his mother had first moved to Garrison...  
This eleventh-grade football dude -- probably named Chase or Brad or something like that -- had been taunting him in the halls, calling him a bitch and a faggot and other shit like that...  
Keith knew better than to retaliate on school grounds. He'd learned better, over the years.  
Someone had passed him a note in fourth period. Telling him to meet in The Alley.  
So he went there right after the final bell rang. He wasn't scared; he was never scared.  
He beat the guy in less than ten minutes. Knocked out a tooth, black eye, the whole shebang.  
He didn't earn respect. Just hatred.  
The boys shot him dirty looks in the halls; some, the ones who weren't afraid of him but knew better than to challenge him, gave him nods of acknowledgement when they caught eyes. The girls that used to flirt and tease him in class whenever they had to partner up started to cross their fingers whenever group projects were announced, praying that their name wasn't called in the same group as Kogane, Keith.  
But after the first fight, Keith had a waiting list of opponents just itching to beat him.  
He'd guess he only lost about two in ten fights.  
But no matter how badly he got banged up, nothing could stop him.  
It was the release... the feeling of knuckles colliding with jaws and skulls.  
It made him feel a lot better than any damn stress ball or breathing exercise ever could.  
The bell rang, and Keith was gone.

When he got outside, the sun was already half-set.  
It was September, so it wasn't cold yet, but it wasn't August-hot anymore, either. Just warm. Just nice enough.  
The sky was streaked orange and pink; watercolours bleeding away from the sun. Keith adjusted his bag on his shoulders and started to make his way down the sidewalk.  
It was Wednesday... Alley day.  
When Keith got to The Alley, there was an unfamiliar face waiting for him. (Keith never fought the same person twice. It was practically an unspoken rule.) This boy was tall and well-built, and handsome in the rides-ATVs-and-has-three-blonde-younger-sisters sort of way.  
He was smoking a cigarette, and he smiled when he saw Keith. He took the smoke out of his mouth and dropped it on the concrete, crushing it under his shoe. "Here to fuck me up, faggot?"  
Keith tossed his bag against the brick wall and raised his fists.

If Keith had to guess, he'd say he only lost about two out of ten fights...  
This was one of those two.  
Not even two minutes in, he was on the ground, curled up into the fetal position, his skull throbbing and stomach aching. The boy kept kicking Keith's side at full-force -- steel-toed shoes and everything. Keith's tummy felt like soft fruit.  
He wondered if maybe he had a concussion.  
"Man, you're not as tough as they say, Kogane," the guy said, laughing, "guess I shouldn't listen to fairytales... especially when they're about fairies like you."  
"Oh, hell no!"  
The boy stopped kicking, thank God, and Keith dared to peer up against the sun.  
There, at the entrance of the Alley, was an angel.  
Well, not an angel. A skinny ninth-grader in her brother's wire-rimmed glasses and an oversized Earthbound shirt.  
... Holding a switchblade.  
God, Keith loved Pidge sometimes.  
"Step away from him, asshole!" Pidge shouted, her tiny little fist curling around the handle of the knife.  
The boy did as she said. (Despite being four-foot-ten, she was scary. The glare of her glasses shone like justice.) He nodded in the direction of the blade. "Don't think you're gonna use that, are you?" he said, trying to sound like he didn't care one way or the other, like he could take her. Which they both knew was a joke.  
"Try me," Pidge snarled.  
The boy looked from Pidge, to the knife, to Keith, and back again. He threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright," he said finally, "you win." He spat on the ground and walked away from the fight.  
Keith groaned. His head hurt like hell... "Thanks, Pidge."  
"Hey, no problem, man," Pidge said. She walked over to him and held out her little hand. Keith took it, grateful. "You okay?"  
Keith sat up, wincing. "Yeah, just... Jesus, my head hurts."  
Pidge frowned and looked at the ground. An ant walked by, stopped to check out the toe of her sneakers. Her eyes were wide and brown, and as deep as the Earth. "Keith, why do you do this to yourself?" she mumbled.  
Keith looked at her. She was just a little kid... two years younger than he was. Just little.  
"Hey," he said. Pidge looked up. He smiled, and it hurt. "Wanna go to Quickie?"

Quickie was the unfortunately-named corner store on the corner of Pidge's street, just five minutes away from the Alley.  
Even though a breeze had picked up outside, the AC was still blaring inside the store. Keith shivered, wishing he'd worn a thicker sweater. (The flannel was for aesthetics, not for practicalities.)  
The man behind the counter was white, and at least fifty, with an admittedly very impressive orange moustache. “Oh, hello, Pidge!” he greeted, “And you as well, Keith? How may I be of your service this afternoon?”  
Pidge leaned on her elbows on the counter. “Hey, Coran,” she said. “Would you happen to have anything to help Keith back there? He got kind of…” she jerked her head in Keith’s direction, “beat up.”  
Coran squinted, assessing the situation. Keith squirmed. “My. You’ve gotten into quite the scrap, eh, Keith? Luckily, I’ve got just what you need.” He rummaged around behind the counter for a moment before resurfacing with a white medical kit. “Free of charge. Just make sure to bring it back when you’re done.”  
Keith smiled, grateful. “Thanks, Coran.”  
The bell above the door chimed, and Pidge turned around. “Oh — hey!” she called, laughing. “Sorry, guys, I completely forgot!”  
There were two of them — teenage boys, one of which Keith knew from school. Lance, from his geography class. Lance McClain. He was loud, and he thought he was funny. He was one of those kids who did everything — debate. Swim team. Student Parliament. Soccer. He was tall, and lanky, and hispanic — and, as much as Keith hated to admit it, because it made him feel like such a YA novel gay, kind of attractive.  
(Okay, actually, Lance was really cute. Cute in the sun-kissed, athletic, unattainable-straight-boy way. Which was Keith’s least favourite type of boy to be attracted to.)  
Anyway, Lance didn’t look very happy. “Oh, look, it’s Katie Holt,” he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. He was wearing one of those grey crew necks with the gigantic sleeves and tan khakis, and actual Timberlands. Not like the shitty black Walmart ones Keith wore in the winter. (Only in the winter. Every other season — or on winter days that weren’t particularly wet and snowy — Converse. Black ones, low-top.) “The girl who was supposed to be watching baking competition reality television with us right now.”  
“Yeah, I said I was sorry,” Pidge said, shoving him lightly. She waved an arm out to Keith. “Lance and Hunk, let me introduce you to Keith. Keith, these are my friends, Lance and Hunk.”  
“Hey, man,” the other boy said cheerfully. He looked strong, but not in an athletic way; just naturally. But like a giant that used his powers for good. To pick cherry trees like flowers. He was wearing a yellow sweater, and it looked really nice on him. (Keith was gay, but not, like, a clothing gay. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to clothes, actually.)  
Lance looked over at him. “Oh, yeah, I know you,” he said. “You’re in my geo class, right? Period two, Mr. Dos Santos?”  
Keith nodded and dug his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that’s — that’s me.”  
Pidge stopped trying to straddle Hunk with a hug (her hugs were like being assaulted by an aggressive koala) and looked around the group. “So you want snacks? I have, like, fifty cents…”  
Lance scoffed. Again. (He was cute, but annoying as hell. Keith wanted to either hold his hand or punch him.) (Best case scenario, both.) “Uh, yeah, of course we do. Of course Hunk does.”  
Hunk closed his eyes and nodded. “That is true. I do want snacks.”  
Pidge took Keith by the hand -- she was super touchy-feely -- and pulled him down one of the aisles, grabbing as many snacks as possible, stacking them on top of the first-aid kid balanced precariously in her free hand.

It had gotten a little darker and a little colder with the sunset.  
The sky was barely pink anymore -- more so a light purple, clouds a smoky grey. There was still a blinding streak of orange highlighting the horizon.  
Pidge dabbed Polysporin on a cut on Keith’s cheekbone. Keith winced at the cold.  
“Sorry, sorry,” Pidge hissed, trying to be as gentle as possible, “I just…”  
She lightly pressed a band-aid over his scratch, smoothing it out with the tips of her fingers.  
Lance cleared his throat. He was watching Keith with the inquisitivity of a child…  
“What happened to you?” he asked.  
Keith sat back. Pidge finished dressing his wound and opened her Mountain Dew. “Got into a fight,” he said simply.  
Lance’s eyes were blue. Which Keith thought was a little strange… but not in a bad way.  
Keith didn’t know that anyone with skin that dark could have blue eyes. (Did that make him racist? Maybe. Probably.) Lance’s eyes weren’t even blue-blue, anyway; bluish-grey. Like rain. Like old denim.  
They were pretty.  
Lance crossed his arms over his body. “Why?”  
Keith twisted the cap off his Coke. The plastic was still cool; condensation dampened his fingers. He took a drink.  
He knew exactly why he did it…  
To feel like I exist. Like I won’t just blow away. Like I’m a helium ballon, and fighting is the string that keeps me tied down.  
He didn’t tell Lance that.  
“I dunno,” he said instead. He stared out at the road; a little girl and her brother were riding the bicycles down the sidewalk across the street, screaming and laughing.  
He could still feel Lance watching.  
“Man, you alright?” Hunk asked him. His fingers were coated in orange dust from the bag of Cheetos he was charing with Pidge.  
Keith took a moment. Well, no. He wasn’t. But who was, right…  
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Just… yeah. I’m alright.”  
Pidge checked her phone and stood up. She stretched, arms over her head. “Well, we should get going,” she said. She turned to Keith. “You wanna come? We’re watching Nailed It. We like to make fun of them.”  
“There is nothing funnier than those who are not successful in culinary activities,” Hunk deadpanned.  
Keith looked down the road… his mom would be home soon.  
“No, I -- I gotta head home,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though? If you want?”  
Pidge beamed. “Yeah, totally! You should hang out with us more, man.”  
Keith half-smiled. “Yeah… okay.”  
“Okay, well, see you later, then,” Hunk said. Pidge moved around him and started crawling up his back. He leaned over to let her up, hoisting her onto his shoulders. (Their size difference was hilarious. Like Thumbelina and the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk.) “Lance, are you sure you don’t want anything? Last chance!”  
Lance shrugged. He was still sitting down…  
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said softly.  
Pidge lightly tugged on Hunk’s hair. “Tally-ho!” she shouted.  
“Okay, okay, fine,” Hunk said, “jeez.”  
And then they were leaving. “Keith, I love you,” Pidge shouted, already halfway down the block.  
Keith watched Lance for about ten seconds. He coughed. “Uh, shouldn’t you get going? They’re, like, gone.”  
(Stupid fucking social situations. Stupid fucking Lance McClain.)  
“Sorry,” Keith added, “I just meant… I’m not telling you to leave or anything, just… they’re already gone.”  
(Fuuuuuuck.)  
Lance blinked and looked at his shoes. His face was pink… “Yeah, I-I’ll get going, I guess,” he said. He got up and ran his fingers through his hair. (Short, and dark brown. And soft. At least, it looked soft. Keith wouldn’t know.) He smiled, shyly. “Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”  
Keith smiled back, but it probably looked weird. “Yeah. See you.”  
“Bye, Keith.”  
“G’bye.”  
Lance smiled one more time, then turned and walked down the street.  
Keith stood up, too, and Lance turned around.  
Keith raised his hand, half-waving. Lance smiled and waved back.

The sky was dark, now, and cold enough to feel it through your clothes.  
Keith left the first aid kit on the steps and walked home alone.


	2. we're the same, we're both rabid animals

A week went by, and Garrison Secondary stayed the same.  
Except for one lunch table in the cafeteria.  
One table -- the one that Lance and Pidge and Allura and Romelle sat at every day, joined by Hunk whenever his girlfriend Shay wasn’t around -- earned itself a new member.  
Keith.  
Lance liked him.  
(Not liked him-liked him -- no. Of course not. Why would you think that? No.)  
He just…  
There was something about Keith. Something else.  
He was smarter than Lance, and cooler, and better-looking… which usually Lance would see as a challenge, but…  
Not with Keith. Keith wasn’t an obstacle.  
He was quiet for the first while… at least for the first few days. Just ate in silence, taking little bites, paying attention. Only half-smiling when Lance tried to make him laugh.  
But now, at this point, the Thursday after they’d officially met, Keith laughed.  
And Lance would give anything to see him do it again.

Today, they were studying in the library.  
It was later on in the lunch period, and Keith was poring over his geography textbook, paying Lance absolutely no attention.  
(How did he do that? How could he just sit there -- no headphones or anything -- and work quietly, not even looking up when Lance tried to play footsies with him under the table.)  
Lance huffed. “Hey. Keith.”  
Keith answered a question in his notebook.  
“Keeeeith.”  
Keith wouldn’t fucking look up.  
Jesus.  
Lance balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at Keith’s head.  
“Jesus, what,” Keith said finally, shutting his textbook. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes were nearly purple. (But not quite.) (But then again, they weren’t blue, either… the colour that came in-between. The colour you couldn’t see in the rainbow.)  
“Talk to me,” Lance whined. He leaned forward on the table, totally invading Keith’s personal space, but at the moment, he didn’t really care. “I’m bored.”  
Keith frowned. “Do your homework.”  
Lance grinned. “It’s called home-work, Keith. I’m gonna do it tonight, chillax. Hang out with me a little.”  
Keith smiled. You could tell he was trying not to. “Ugh. Okay. Just -- let me finish this section.”  
He went back to his book. Lance checked the time on the clock on the wall… break was over in five minutes.  
Lance sighed.  
His phone chimed, so he checked it.  
It was a message from the group chat… Pidge.

pidwigeon2005: hey so are we going to the park tonight or no

Lance smiled and kicked his feet around under the table. Keith kicked back, a little too hard. Lance laughed.

lvrboy: Oop I forgot  
lvrboy: Can I ask Keith if he wants to come?  
pidwigeon2005: omg yes  
pidwigeon2005: he has to meet shiro

Lance kicked Keith again, a little more forcefully. With a purpose. “Hey, Keith.”  
“What.”  
“You wanna hang out tonight?”  
Keith looked up, suspiciously. “Where?”  
“There’s a skate park down the street,” Lance told him, “we hang out there all the time. You should come.”  
Keith frowned. “Uh, I don’t really skate,” he said.  
“No, neither do any of us,” Lance said quickly, “we just hang out. Me, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Romelle, Pidge’s brother Matt, and this guy Shiro. Matt and Shiro graduated last June. You’d like them, Keith, you should come with us.”  
Keith made the face. The one he made when he was thinking about something. Then it softened -- the face he made when he made up his mind, and the answer was good. Lance crossed his fingers under the table. “Okay,” Keith said finally. He gave Lance that little smile, and Lance died.  
But not because he liked him. Definitely not.  
Definitely not because he thought Keith’s hair was pretty, or because his skin was as pale and smooth as cream. Or because he could see the shadow of his collarbones beneath his sweatshirt, or because his eyes were not-quite-purple, not-quite-blue.  
None of that had any part in the blush on Lance’s cheeks.

lvrboy: Keiths coming :)  
h_garret: Yay!  
princess.allura: Wonderful :)  
takashishirogane: Would anyone care to explain to me who Keith is?

Lance smiled and put his phone in his pocket. The bell rang, and he had to go to Spanish. (Honestly. His mom put him in Spanish. Like he didn’t already speak it. Fluently. Everyday.)  
Keith slung his bag over his shoulders and gave Lance the smile again. “Alright, well. See you after school. We’re gonna meet at your locker?”  
Lance smiled back, too wide. “Yeah -- yeah! Sure, of course. Um --” he took his phone out of his pocket and waved it around. “Do you… wanna be added to our group chat? If I could get your social media?”  
“Yeah, lemme just…” Keith lifted his sweatshirt, just a little, to take his phone out of his pocket, and Lance hitched up his chest.  
“Kogane-dash-K,” Keith said.  
Lance shook his head, too fast. (Always too much. Of everything.) “What?”  
“That’s… my username,” Keith said, slowly. He had that look in his eyes again; the look he gave when Lance was being an idiot but Keith was too polite to say anything. “Kogane-dash-k.”  
“Oh! Oh, okay.” Lance tapped kogane-k into the search bar, and there he was. No profile photo or anything. Just a bio.

kogane-k  
keith  
17  
mlm 

“Okay, gotcha,” Lance said, grinning. Keith gave him a closed-lipped smile back. “Hey, what does MLM stand for? Is that, like, a school or something?”  
Keith’s face went red. “Oh, um. Uh. You don’t, uh. It sort of means --”  
The second bell rang, and they were late.  
“Shit,” Keith cussed. He wiped his hands on his jeans and glanced around the library wildly. There was barely anyone else there, just a girl in the corner with her headphones in and on so loud Lance could tell she really liked Ariana. (Good choice.) “Uh -- we have to go.”  
“Oh -- yeah,” Lance said. “Uh -- sorry, I just, I don’t know what --”  
“It’s cool,” Keith said. “It’s… it’s okay. I’ll tell you later. Uh. Bye.”  
“Bye,” Lance said. He watched Keith leave; God, he was an idiot, he banged into like three tables and pushed the door instead of pulling.  
Lance wrapped his arms across his chest. Shit.  
He wished he knew what he did.

Keith held his head in his hands.  
His math class was usually quiet, which he was usually grateful for...  
But today, fuck, all it did was leave him alone with his embarrassment.  
God, he was so fucking stupid. Why the hell did he have that in his bio, anyway? No one else from school knew any of his handles, so he didn't think it would ever come up as a problem.  
But apparently, now it was.  
He was glad, at least, that Lance had no idea what it stood for. (Because Jesus Christ, that would've made the whole 'hey-can-I-get-your-socials' situation even worse. Would've made it seem like Keith was taking it an entirely different way...)  
He wasn't taking it that way, anyway. They were just two guys -- two friends -- going on a walk to the skate park together. No subtext, no nothing. Nothing to read between the lines for.  
There were absolutely zero reasons for Keith to feel like this.  
For his heart to be beating like this. To have been trying not to cry when Lance was trying to mess around with him back in the library.  
Because he shouldn't be feeling anything for Lance McClain.  
Shouldn't like his eyes. Shouldn't like the way his skin looked like coffee and milk.  
He really shouldn't...  
But he did.  
Someone stepped in front of Keith's desk, and he looked up. Mr. Iverson was frowning down at him. More so than he normally did. (He was always frowning, but he put a little extra hatred in there just for Keith.) "Ah, Keith. Maybe you can tell us the answer to question three on page 437?"  
Keith blinked. He hadn't brought his any of his math textbooks to school since, like, eighth grade. "Uh, I don't know, sir."  
Iverson frowned a little harder. "Are you sure about that?"  
Keith wondered what would happen if he told Iverson to fuck off.  
He didn't do that. "Yes, sir. I don't know the answer."  
His classmates snickered under their breaths. Keith felt the heat rise up in his chest, and he bit his tongue. Hard.  
Fucking people. Keith swore to god.

He couldn't wait to get out of there.

When last period was finally over -- finally -- Lance was waiting for Keith outside the classroom door.  
"Hey," he said, hands in his pockets. He looked nervous...  
"Hey," Keith said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulders.  
They stood there for a moment. Somebody rammed their shoulder into Keith's as they left the classroom; Keith scowled after them.  
"Are you mad at me?" Lance blurted.  
Keith looked at him, surprised. "What? No. Why would I be mad at you?"  
Lance shrugged, biting his lip. "I dunno... but I'm glad that you're not." He smiled. Keith smiled back. "C'mon, let's swing by my locker. I gotta grab my jacket."  
Keith followed him, weaving through the crowd of people going in the opposite direction. He kept a very specific look on his face -- a special one, reserved for whenever he was caught in a situation where someone he hated might make eye contact with him. Apathy and annoyance.  
Lance swung open his locker, and Keith peered inside.  
The inner side of the door was covered, top to bottom, in pictures of their friends. Pidge drinking apple juice, throwing up the middle finger; Romelle and Allura, wearing pyjamas on someones couch, cuddled up next to each other and fast asleep. One of Hunk and Lance from years ago, just little kids, wearing rubber boots and holding butterfly nets.  
There was one... a school picture. Lance. It was recent... probably from this year or last year.  
He looked really good.  
"Those are nice," Keith said. Lance looked at him and beamed.  
"Thanks," he said. "I took most of the newer ones myself. You wanna keep one?"  
Keith blushed. "I, uh. They're yours."  
Stupid. So goddamn stupid.  
Lance kept smiling... "No, it's fine, here," he said. He carefully tore the school photo from the door and handed it to Keith with a smirk. "For you," he said, brandishing it to him like a rose. Like an invitation to the royal ball.  
Keith hesitated, then took it. "Thanks," he said.  
And he meant it.

They went outside, and it was colder now; it was officially time for jackets. Sweater season. Mother Nature remembered what season it was, and changed herself accordingly.  
Lance looked at him. "Aren't you cold? You don't even have a jacket on."  
Keith shrugged. He was just in a t-shirt and his flannel... "Nah. I'm okay. Are -- are you cold?"  
Lance's ears were pink, just at the tips. "Nope," he said, "I'm good."  
"Good."  
They'd already walked a half a block from the school. In the time that it took to go to Lance's locker and get outside, mostly everyone was already gone. The sidewalk was empty all around them.  
They were quiet.  
"So," Lance said finally, "what was that thing earlier?"  
Keith's heart stopped. Just for a second. "What thing?" he said, too quickly.  
Lance shrugged. "You know, the thing on your profile. Those letters."  
Keith stopped walking. Lance took a few more paces, then turned around, expectant.  
"Look," Keith said quietly, "if I tell you this, you're probably not going to want to hang around with me anymore."  
Lance laughed nervously. "Uh. Okay. Just tell me what it is, alright? You're starting to freak me out."  
Keith took in a breath.  
"MLM stands for men who like men," he said, all in a rush. Like it was all one word. "I'm gay."  
Lance looked at him. His hands were still in his pockets.  
"I mean, okay," he said after a moment, like it was no big deal.  
Keith looked up at him. "O-okay?" he repeated dumbly.  
"Yeah, I mean, it's no big deal," Lance said, shrugging. "It doesn't make me want to stop being your friend or anything. And I'm pretty sure no one else would care, either. I mean, look at Pidge."  
"You'd be surprised how big of a deal it is, actually," Keith muttered.  
Lance frowned. "I still like you," he said softly.  
Keith crossed his arms.  
"But, I just," Keith went on softly, "there are so many people here, Lance, that hate me just for that. Like, hardcore, hatred. I really don't want people to get the wrong idea -- like, about us, and to drag you into that. Does that make sense?"  
"I mean, yeah," Lance said, "but that isn't gonna stop me from liking you as a person, Keith. I wanna be your friend."  
Keith breathed in. Five seconds in, five seconds out. Again.  
"Alright," he said. Lance beamed.

Keith liked boys.  
That was a fact that should not have made Lance's heart flutter, but it did.  
Keith was gay. Keith liked boys.  
Lance was a boy.  
Not like that mattered, but...  
Maybe? Just maybe.  
Maybe Keith might have a crush on him.  
It was a stupid thought, but it made Lance's wiring shortcircuit.  
He kind of wanted to hold Keith's hand. 

"Okay, here we are," Lance said brightly.  
This was the most underwhelming sight Keith had ever laid eyes on.  
He didn't even know that Garrison had a skate park; he'd never stopped to go to one before, but he'd driven past them with his mother in their old town, the beautiful graffiti-scrawled concrete and metal pipes tinted orange in the summer sun...  
But this was actually kind of said.  
There was a halfpipe on the ground, broken and rusting, and the only street art on the side of the funbox was a gigantic spray-painted penis. Lovely.  
"Wow," Keith said, sarcastic. "This is great."  
"I know, right?" Lance said happily. "And look, everyone's here already. C'mon."  
Lance walked him over to the other side of the funbox, where a group of people were hanging out. Pidge was there, Hunk was there, Allura was there, Romelle was there, and --  
Holy fuck.  
The most handsome boy Keith had ever seen was there.  
He was tall, and he looked strong... Asian, in a black t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, and he looked so kind...  
Keith's face felt so warm, he was sure he was glowing.  
"Shiro!" Lance called. He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "Good to see you, man! This is my best friend, Keith."  
"Best friend?" Allura questioned. Pidge was leaning up against her, practically in her lap.  
"I feel degraded," Romelle said. She was eating a Fruit Roll-Up, and she looked like a kindergartener.  
Shiro held out his left hand to shake. "Nice to meet you, Keith. I'm Takashi. Call me Shiro."  
Keith took his hand, hoping that his palms weren't sweaty enough for Shiro to notice. "Why do they call you Shiro?"  
Shiro smiled. "My last name's Shirogane. A lot of people can't pronounce Takashi, so. Shiro's a little easier. Rolls off the tongue."  
"My name's Keith," Keith said thickly.  
"He knows, dumbass," Pidge called. She was looking at him oddly, like she knew something... Stupid Pidge. Stupid Gay Instinct.  
Shiro only had one arm. The right one was a prosthetic, matching his skin colour so that it was less noticable. Keith wondered what happened.  
Lance coughed. "Look, it's Matt."  
Romelle's face brightened. "And Veronica!"  
"My second favourite McClain," Pidge noted.  
A boy who looked like a taller, more masculine Pidge walked up, joined by a girl who looked like a taller, more feminine Lance. "What's up, guys?" the boy said, grabbing Pidge in a headlock that quickly turned into a hair ruffling. Pidge punched him in the jaw -- benefits of her shortness.  
"Hey, guys," Lance said, "this is Keith. My friend."  
"Well, hello," Veronica said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm Veronica, Lance's favourite sister. No need to stare."  
"Trust me, he isn't staring," Pidge deadpanned. Allura giggled. Keith shook Veronica's hand.  
Shiro looked out at the road... Keith looked at him.  
The sun was setting, and the sky was a dream. Every colour at once, blended together, the lining of every cloud highlighted in orange. Like the sun was melting into the clouds. The light caught on Shiro's skin, and the breeze ruffled his hair, and he was the prettiest thing that Keith had ever seen.  
Keith could feel Lance watching him... his school photo was still in Keith's pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'rabid' by nicole dollanganger
> 
> kudos and comments highly appreciated!!


	3. i think you're a ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the lesbian chapter oop
> 
> sorry it’s short!! i’ve been busy with school!! the next one will be longer, promise

Allura had a very nice bedroom; Pidge could give her that.  
Painted light pink, with warm-white fairy lights strung up around her bed. A television on her dresser, eggshell-painted bookshelves with windowsills to match. Little succulents everywhere.  
Her phone was playing music on one of the bookshelves, and they were getting changed.  
After the skate park, Allura had offered for Pidge to stay the night. (Her house was closer, and she could give them both a ride to school the next morning. Pidge’s mom said it was fine.) She hadn’t packed a change of clothes…  
Allura passed her a pair of black-and-white dotted pyjama pants and a purple tank top. “Here,” she said softly, smiling. Her hair shimmered, pale gold, in the glow.  
“Thanks.”  
They got changed in opposite corners of the bedroom, facing the wall. Allura hummed as she got undressed; Pidge didn’t recognize the song.  
She’d known her for years.  
When Pidge was younger, her brother Matt and Allura used to be really close. Like, best-friend, next-door-neighbours close. And he liked her; he’d complain about his stifling crush on her every day in Pidge’s room after their parents called them back into their houses, when the streetlights were coming on and the mosquitoes were coming out.   
They used to be neighbours.  
Until one night a long time ago. (So long ago that Pidge should be forgetting the minor details.) (She could never forget the details. She was too young to bear witness to something like that… they were all too young.)  
Pidge was ten, and Matt and Allura were fourteen. The girls had been begging for a slumber party for months, and Matt had been wanting to hang out for longer than an hour or two after school. Pidge’s parents had finally said okay, that it was alright for Allura to stay over, as long as they kept the bedroom door open and didn’t make too much noise -- and that Matt left the girls alone after nine-thirty…   
Everything was going according to plan.  
Until they woke up at around one in the morning, to an unnatural brightness coming from the window.  
At first, Pidge thought it was morning already, and she shook Allura awake.  
Until she put her glasses on, and realized that the sunlight was a little more hot and orange than usual.  
And that the light -- and the crackling, and the sparks -- were coming from next door.  
The afternoon before -- when Allura had waved to her family through the window, going straight to Pidge and Matt’s right after she got off the bus -- was the last time she saw her parents.  
That was the worst day of all of their lives.  
But, even though it was her family that was gone, Allura was the only one that didn’t cry. Just stared blankly ahead, firelight illuminating her dark skin. Eyes dry as deserts.  
She lived with her godfather now. Coran. The man who owned the convenience store down the road.  
He wasn’t home yet… the store didn’t close until eleven, and he’d probably stay an extra hour just to clean up. Making sure everything was perfect.  
When Pidge turned around, Allura was already changed and sitting on the bed, leaning over the side and reaching underneath it for something. She was in a tank top, too… a light pink one, material thin and delicate against her skin. She had strong muscles in her back… she played volleyball and lacrosse, and she was so strong. She could crush Pidge like an empty bottle.  
She was kind of really pretty.  
Pidge swallowed.  
Allura came back up just as the song changed. (Lana Del Rey.) She was holding a half-empty bag of gummy bears… “Late-night snack?” she offered.

Keith shut the front door quietly behind him.  
His mom wasn’t home yet. She probably wouldn’t be home until later… this was one of her two-job days. Day shift at one, night shift at the other. Just enough to get by.  
The dog padded over happily, panting. Keith held out his hand for her to kiss it, which she did. Politely.  
“Good girl, Kosmo,” he said softly. His heart was going crazy…  
He had a crush on Shiro.  
That was one thing that went unsaid. God, anyone would have a crush on Shiro. He was the best-looking man Keith had ever seen…  
Exactly the type that Keith liked.   
Kind eyes… pretty smile. Strong, but gentle.  
Keith wanted a boy like that.  
He let the dog out in the backyard and watched her run around for a minute, then brought her back inside. The house was still dark; he didn’t bother turning any lights on. Just a lamp here and there.  
He left Kosmo with a bone to keep her preoccupied, then got ready to get in the shower.  
He put his phone on the bathroom counter… put his playlist on. Turned the water on. Got undressed.   
Something fell out of the pocket of his jeans and into the shower floor.  
“Fuck, what —“ he muttered, leaning over to pick it up. A piece of printer card.  
He turned it over…  
Lance’s school photo. Just a bit distorted now, ink bleeding from the water.  
Keith looked him over. Lance.  
Kind eyes… pretty smile.  
Keith held the photo to his chest.  
“Fuck,” he said softly.

They were watching The Office.  
Pidge’s legs were intertwined with Allura’s, and they were buried under layers of blankets. There was a perfectly good television across the room, but they were still using Allura’s laptop to watch Netflix…  
They’d almost finished the bag of gummy bears.  
Netflix stopped it’s autoplay to ask if they were still watching, and Pidge went to click yes, but Allura took her hand.   
“Let’s chat,” Allura said. She was smiling, and she looked so pretty in the luster of the string lights. Like an angel. (An angel with smudged eyeshadow and a frizzy bun. An angel in baggy pyjama pants, binging on chewy candy.) “I never get to talk to you anymore. I feel as though we’ve drifted over these past few months.”  
Pidge blinked. “Uh. Okay. Sure.”  
Allura propped herself up on her elbow, cheek cupped in her hand. Her nails were painted pearly-pink. “What’s new?”  
Pidge shrugged. “Uh… nothing, really. I mean, I’m in coding club, which is fun…”  
Allura nodded. She popped a gummy into her mouth, taking her time chewing it. (Pidge could never do that. She’d always cram as many as she could into her cheeks, then chew. Her dad always said she was lucky to have good teeth, to never get cavities…)  
Pidge shifted so that she was lying on her side, so that they were practically nose to nose. “How are you and Shiro?” she whispered.  
Allura smiled, looking down. “Oh. Shiro and I have broken up.”  
Pidge felt her eyes widen. “Wh — really? When? How?”  
Allura laughed. She put her hand in the bag, and the plastic crinkled. “About a week or so ago. It was a mutual split… we decided we’d be better off friends.” She rolled onto her back, closing her eyes. She had these long, thick eyelashes, and her straying eyeshadow sparkled in the dark. “Shiro and I each have some… feelings to figure out. Some things we’ve been wondering about ourselves for a while. And those are journeys we must take on our own.”  
Pidge took in a breath.  
The screen of the computer flickered, dimming, and a message popped up. Five percent battery left.  
“Hey, Allura?”  
Allura’s eyes were still closed, but she smiled. She looked like a princess. Like royalty. A damsel, but without distress. Completely serene. “Yes, Katie?”  
(Only Allura and Pidge’s mom called her that. Her given name. Matt had nicknamed her when she was just little, said she used to squawk when she cried, just like a baby bird. The name stuck.)  
Pidge shut her eyes. The computer screen flickered off, dead. “I love you,” she said softly.  
She could hear Allura’s smile in her voice. “I love you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'sweet girl' by nicole dollanganger
> 
> at this point i should probably just make a playlist with all the chapter title songs in it so that way i don't have to keep writing these gosh darn notes >: (if anyone actually like... wanted reference??)


	4. you are sick, and i hate you and love you for it

Lance was having lunch.  
The cafeteria was way too loud, and way too packed; so many people talking at once that you could barely make out any words, just a collective, deafening hum of conversation.  
He wasn’t going to eat anything -- he never usually did. But it was french fry day, and they were only a dollar. (Probably because they were so shit. But what the hell.)  
Hunk wasn’t with them… his girlfriend had been sick, but she was better now. Lance guessed he was off cradling her tenderly in a meadow somewhere.  
Anyway. Pidge was eating a caesar salad and gesturing animatedly with her hands. Allura was nodding along seriously, and Romelle was clasping her necklace, fiddling with the charm between her fingertips.  
Keith slid into the chair across from Lance, dropping his bag solidly on the ground. “Hey,” he said quietly.  
Lance smiled. “Hey,” he said softly. He nudged the carton of fries closer to the middle of the table so Keith could reach. Keith smiled, grateful.  
“Order,” Pidge said, smacking her palms against the table. Keith frowned and broke his gaze away from Lance, and Lance frowned with him.  
“Thank you,” Pidge said, clearing her throat. She took a bite of her salad, chewed it carefully, then swallowed. “Alright. So, as I’ve been trying to explain to you all for the last ten minutes, Lotor’s back.”  
Lance raised his eyebrows. “Lotor’s back?”  
Pidge nodded, reloading her fork. “Yup. Lotor’s back.”  
“Who’s Lotor?” Keith asked.  
Allura cleared her throat. “My ex-boyfriend,” she said matter-of-factly. “And my most dire mistake.”  
“He was not a nice person,” Romelle added, blowing bubbles in her milk with her straw.  
He really wasn’t.  
A year older than Allura, and dangerously intelligent. Lance had heard rumours that the guy had a ninety-five percent average. He was nice enough at first… charming. Charismatic.  
That was part of the reason, Allura had explained to them before, that she’d liked him.  
He was smart, and smooth, and so, so pretty.  
But he was daunting.  
Some people say that those who are gifted with great gifts often use them for less-than moral purposes. And Lotor was one of the gifted.  
He was smart, and he had access to materials that average people didn’t.  
He crafted drugs. Injectible stuff, meant to shoot through veins right to your soul.  
He never used them, himself… just distributed them for a little extra cash.  
He and his friends, a group of scary-looking girls dressed all in black, were possibly the most respected group of students in attendance at Garrison Secondary. (Obviously; seventy-percent of the student body were addicted to their poisons.)  
Lotor acted as though he were on top of the world.  
Until Allura had enough.  
She broke up with him two weeks before their graduation… he didn’t show up to school after that; didn’t even come to the ceremony. One of his friends accepted his diploma for him.  
The separation crushed him. Allura was his favourite person… he loved her more than anything. Called her his princess, his star. She was the only person he was afraid of.  
After the day of the graduation ceremony, he and his friends disappeared. No one stopped them; they were all over eighteen, they could do what they wanted. No one cared enough to put a missing persons report in.  
They were just sort of... gone. Like they’d never existed.  
Except now, apparently, they existed again.  
Pidge explained all this to Keith.  
Keith nodded. “Wait, yeah. That was the guy with the white hair and the black jacket, right? British accent?”  
Allura nodded. Her mouth was strained tight into a frown, eyebrows knotted together. “Yes, that’s Lotor,” she sighed, stirring her yogurt with a spoon. (Not one of the plastic cafeteria ones… a real one, that she’d brought from home. Only because Hunk and Romelle nagged them all so much about turtles.)  
“Oh. Then I remember him,” Keith said, “He was friends with my sister.”  
Pidge covered her mouth with her hand, still chewing. “No shit?”  
Keith nodded. “Yeah… she left with him when he... went away. Haven’t heard from her since.”  
The table went quiet for a moment. Romelle blew bubbles in her milk until Allura kicked her beneath the table.  
“... I’m sorry, man,” Lance said finally.  
Keith made a face that looked like he was trying not to care, but obviously did. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “I don’t care. She was an asshole.”  
“What was she like?” Romelle asked.  
Keith shrugged. “I dunno… she looked kinda like me, I guess. Except, you know. A girl. She used to be really, like, smart, and had this dry sense of humour… but after her thing with Lotor started, I don’t know. She turned weird. Like, she’d get angry faster… and she didn’t joke around with us anymore.”  
“Oh,” Pidge said quietly. She’d finished her salad by now, and the lid was back on the container. “That sucks, man. Sorry about that.”  
“It’s fine,” Keith said, shrugging again.  
Lance could tell it wasn’t fine. Keith’s arms were wrapped around his chest, and if Lance had learned anything about Keith in the two weeks that he’d known him, that meant he was upset. Holding himself together. (He’d read somewhere a long time ago that crossing your arms was a form of self-comfort… a one-person hug.)   
It wasn’t fine.  
The bell rang, and lunch was over.  
Lance looked down. He’d eaten half of the fries.  
Fuck.  
Keith stood up, aligning his bag over his shoulders. He pushed his chair in and smiled shyly. “See you,” he said, to Lance alone.  
“Later,” Lance answered. He half-smiled back; he wasn’t feeling it.  
Fuck. Shit.  
He stood up; his head felt heavy, like his neck wasn’t meant to support that much weight. The room swayed.  
“Are you alright?” Romelle asked. She was looking up at him expectantly…  
Lance nodded. “Wh — yeah! Yeah. I’m just… gonna go to class…”  
He picked up his bag and cute through the crowds, trying to hold himself together. Trying not to cry.

The bathroom was empty, thank god.  
Lance stared into the mirror.  
His stomach was all off-balance, and his throat burned…  
But that was okay; that was the price.   
Lance didn’t find himself to be anything worth looking at.  
But for whatever reason, the girls in his classes and clubs did. They were always talking to him, trying to make him laugh...  
And he had no idea why.  
Literally. What could there be to see in him, anyway? He wasn’t attractive. He was weird-looking, actually. Probably even below-average. He hated the way he looked. Fucking hated it.  
But for whatever reason, others didn’t.   
And he wanted it to stay that way.  
Lance wrapped his arms around his torso and ran his hands up and down his sides. Still felt his ribs beneath his shirt, right under his skin. Good.  
He wanted to keep it that way.  
He thought about Keith.  
Keith was thin. And pale, but not in a sickly way. In a pretty way. And he had purple stamped permanently just under his eyes, webs of veins painted on his eyelids. His hair looked soft, and his fucking eyes, Jesus. Not blue, not purple. The colour of evenings in winter.  
Lance wondered what it was like to be him.   
To be gay in a town like this. Was he okay? Was he ever in danger here?  
Would he ever have to leave? Keith and said people didn't treat him the greatest because of the way he was. Would it ever get so bad?  
Lance hoped not.  
He wanted Keith to stay.  
Lance wondered how he knew he was gay.  
Was it a process? A journey? Did it take him years and years to understand, to unlock that part of himself? Or was it automatic? Something he had known forever, as a fact.  
Lance couldn't imagine how that realization came to him.  
How did he know?  
(Not that Lance wanted to know so that he could apply that information to himself, or anything like that.) (Because Lance wasn't gay. Not at all. Not even a little.)  
(Not even in the slightest.)

When he left the bathroom, Romelle was waiting for him by the door.  
“Oh, hey, Romelle,” he said, simultaneously trying to be nonchalant and also trying not to look like he’d just thrown up. “What’s up?”  
“Nothing,” Romelle said. She was frowning, and playing with her necklace… she only did that when she was worrying about something.  
The halls were empty… they were both late for class. “Are… you okay?”  
“Yes, I’m fine,” Romelle told him, “but… well, I was worried about you. Are you alright?”  
Lance kept smiling; his face was starting to hurt. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said cheerfully, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. “Why do you ask?”  
Romelle shuffled from foot to foot. (She had cute little feet. Today, she was wearing little pink ballet flats with teeny white flowers on them. Lance was pretty sure they were meant for ten-year-olds — pretty sure his seven-year-old niece had the same pair — but Romelle could make them work. That was kind of her aesthetic.) “Well,” she said, “you seemed to be rather upset during lunch, and I’ve been noticing lately that every time I see you eat — which, mind you, is not very often — you spend time in the washroom. I wouldn’t like to pry into your life choices, but… I was just wondering… do you have an eating disorder?”  
Lance kept smiling. Fucking hell. He laughed, nervously. “That’s, uh, kind of a personal question, Ro.”  
“Well, I feel the need to ask,” she said, “you seem to have been acting strangely for the past little while. I think today was the first time I’ve seen you eat more than a few pieces of celery since last year.”  
Lance winced. Yeah, he’d made a bad choice today. Today’s lunch was really going to throw of his body’s rhythm. Not used to all that unhealthy shit. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I guess so.”  
Romelle crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side. Her hair was up in buns, and it made her look like a sixth grader. (A very tall sixth grader.) “Do you have an eating disorder?” she whispered. “You could tell me. I would never be angry with you.”  
It was quiet. Lance could hear the hum of the lights.  
"Romelle, I don't have an eating disorder," he said finally. "I'm fine."  
"Are you sure?" she pried, biting her bottom lip. "I am worried about you, Lance."  
"Yeah, I'm sure," he said. He smiled, trying to look as convincing as possible. "I am completely alright. Alright? There's no need to worry so much. I'm okay. Really."  
Romelle scrunched her mouth to one side. "... Well, alright," she said after a while, hand on her necklace. "But if you ever need to talk to anyone, you can come to me. Alright?"  
"Alright. I'll see you later, Elle."  
"Goodbye," Romelle said softly. She looked at him for a minute, then turned and walked away.  
Lance leaned against the wall.  
He didn't have an eating disorder. He didn't. He just... ate in moderation. And threw it all up when he didn't.  
That wasn't a disorder. That was order. That was a system... a solution.  
He sipped some water from the fountain and made his way to class.

This motel had to be the shittiest one yet.  
Dusty. And dark. And Acxa was pretty certain that she'd seen a mouse in the hallway. (Maybe it was a rat. She fucking hoped not.)  
Acxa tossed her bag on the floor and collapsed on the bed. Fucking finally.  
Ezor was way too hyper, considering that none of them had slept the night before... she was setting up a Sorry! board on the carpet. "So what are we gonna do now that we're back here?" she asked.  
Lotor was standing by the window... eternally over-dramatic. He was still in his jacket -- a long, black trenchcoat -- and his hands were deep in his pockets. "Something I should've done a long time ago," he said thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes.  
Narti had claimed the armchair in the corner. That stupid cat, Kova, was curled up in her lap, purring.  
"Well, whatever it is, can it wait until tomorrow?" Zethrid complained. She dropped the remainder of the bags onto the pull-out couch, which groaned in protest. "I'm fucking starving. We need food."  
Lotor sighed. He laughed, just quietly. "Yes, Zethrid, it can wait until tomorrow."  
Zethrid sighed. "Good." Ezor stood up and wrapped her arms around her waist.  
Acxa rolled onto her side and shut her eyes.  
Fuck.  
They hadn't been in Garrison since graduation... Acxa wondered how much had changed.   
She wondered why all of a sudden Lotor wanted to come back.  
He'd decided just three days ago... he told them to pack their things, they were leaving.  
They'd left their last motel last night, and they'd been driving from midnight until three the next afternoon. None of them had eaten anything within the past few days...  
Money was tight. And Acxa could tell that Lotor's morale was low.  
She really hoped he wasn't planning on selling again. (None of them had sold for a long time... not since early last July. It was late September now... it would be October tomorrow.)  
She really hoped she wouldn't run into her brother anywhere. (Fuck, that would be a disaster. That would be a goddamn catastrophe.)

School ended, and Lance went home.  
He lay on his bed.  
Maybe Romelle was right. Maybe there was something wrong with him.  
Or maybe she wasn't. Maybe he was completely fine. Maybe there was nothing about him that needed fixing...  
Ha. 'Nothing that needed fixing'. Obviously he needed fixing; that was why he did this to himself.   
He just wanted to control something. To have this one little thing to himself. And it wasn't like he was harming himself... it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. If anything, he was improving his health, right? Along with making himself more likable to others.  
So, really, there was no problem. Romelle had no reason to worry about him.  
Really, there were absolutely no reasons for concern.   
Lance was fine.  
He couldn't shake the feeling, though, that maybe Romelle had a point.   
He'd made tea... it was sitting on his bedside table. (Green tea. Nothing in it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'creek blues' by nicole dollanganger
> 
> this chapter is pretty much entirely pointless!! the plot just kind of left!!! but it'll be back next time tho aha


	5. update!

just an update!!

new chapters of this work will be coming out at a less advanced pace — i have it all written out, but still have tons of editing to do. school is a bitch lol.

but!! oneshots will still be coming out!! make sure to check those out if u miss me!!!

thanks, especially to storm, for the kudos and comments!! i’ll try to be back soon!


	6. but i can’t find a reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> klance? owo? 
> 
> it’s startin soon babey :0

Schools in Garrison got out at 3:15; Lotor remembered that.

Allura worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays from four till eight... today was Thursday.

After that she’s probably go to that little skate park that she had liked so dearly. (She rarely visited while she was with Lotor. He’d rather not spend his after-school hours pretending to socialize with her school friends.) (Plus, whenever Lotor saw Allura enjoying herself with others, something changed in his chest. A warmth. But not a fond glow — a spark-that-caused-a-fire type emotion.)

He’d wait for her.

Today, in the late afternoon. He and the girls would go to that park Allura had loved and wait.

He had some thoughts that needed to be voiced.

Keith had been going for walks with Lance after school nearly every day now.

Usually they’d just head to the skate park, but sometimes — like today — Lance liked to make detours. (Keith, despite having lived in Garrison since, what, eighth or ninth grade, had never really gone exploring.) (Lance had. He knew everything about the place.)

He’d show Keith around town.

Coffee shops. Bookstores. Family-owned pet stores. (Lance liked to drag Keith in the pet shop to look at the fish and pet all the cats. One time, Keith bought a new chew toy for Kosmo. A fuzzy little red lion-type creature. She loved it.)

Today, though, they were headed somewhere different.

“So. Where are you taking me?” Keith asked, a few paces behind Lance. (Lance was so fucking tall, jesus, Keith’s little legs could hardly keep up. For every stride Lance took, Keith took two.)

Lance laughed. “I dunno, Keith. Where am I taking you?”

Keith groaned. He sped up his steps. “Have I ever told you you’re, like, incredibly annoying?”

“Yeah, once or twice,” Lance said, grinning. Keith rolled his eyes.

It was actually kind of warm out today. There was a bit of a bite to the wind, though; flannel weather. Keith’s favourite type of day. Lance was wearing one of those school sports team jackets, the dark blue windbreakers with the player’s last name sewn into the sleeve. (Lance was a part of so many extracurriculars, it was kind of insane. Swim team, volleyball team, soccer team, debate club. Christ.) (Keith wasn’t in any clubs. He didn’t want any more shit to have to deal with.)

They were in a part of town Keith had never been to before, down streets he’d never taken. The trees here were ever green, and the houses were run-down with peeling paint curling off the sides. 

There was a cemetery up ahead.

Keith looked up at Lance. “Please tell me we’re not going to the fucking graveyard?”

Lance laughed. “C’mon, Keith. You’re so doom and gloom, I thought you’d like this!”

Keith laughed back, just quietly. “You’re crazy,” he said.

The breeze ruffled Lance’s hair, and the tips of his ears were pink.

Probably just from the chill.

Lance stopped in front of the yard gate and unlocked the hatch, the door swinging open and the hinges protesting. He swung out an arm smoothly, smiling at Keith. “After you, good sir,” he said dramatically.

Keith crossed his arms. “Uh... no.”

Lance laughed and grabbed Keith’s hand. “C’mon, mullet, lets go.”

Lance dragged him onto the grass, and Keith tried to not focus on the feeling of Lance’s hand gripping his own. (Lance had long, thin fingers and knobbly knuckles. And the skin on his hands was thin, like petals, and the colour of caramel toffee.)

Lance walked him over to a set of four graves, near the edge of the plot of land. Right at the edge of the forest. The trees here were deep green and swaying with the wind. It was cooler, here by the shadows. “Voila. Keith, meet my dead family.”

Keith shivered. “Nice. Can we get outta here?”

Lance laughed again. “No, Keith, shut up, I gotta tell you some stories!”

“Are they long stories? Because the idea of hanging around in a graveyard kinda scares the shit outta me, not gonna lie.”

“No, they’re not long. Just little pieces of history.” Lance pointed around the first grave, on the far left. “My uncle, Luis. He was my dad’s brother. I never met him, but apparently, he was the best. My oldest brother’s named after him.” He moved to the next one. “This was my great-aunt Maria. She was an alcoholic... her, I met. She was a bitch.” Then he smiled, kneeling before the last two graves. Just marble slabs of stone, set into the earth. “Now, these two,” he said softly, “are special. They’re my sisters. This one here is my oldest sister, Hannah... she was a miscarriage. She would be five years older than my oldest brother... my mom was really afraid to try again.” He ran the tips of his fingers over the name engraved on the last stone. “This is little Catherine. My twin sister Rachel and I really wanted a little brother or sister... my mom said okay, she could handle one more, but only one.” He bunches his eyebrows together, scrunching his mouth to the side. “Apparently, her body said no. Catherine was miscarried, too. They’re not buried here. These are just markers.”

There was a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers set between his sisters’ tombstones. Only a few weeks old, at the most. 

The wind blew past, and the trees rustled softly. “Oh,” Keith said simply. He shuffled his feet around. “Are... you alright?”

Lance was quiet for a moment. “Yep,” he said finally, standing up. (His legs were so long and thin, watching him get up was practically a production. An entire project.) “I was kinda little when Catherine died, like... I think six?”

Keith nodded. “I was, uh. Thirteen. When my dad died.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Aw, Keith,” he said, “I didn’t know that.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s fine. He was a dick. Drank himself to death.”

Lance nodded. “Well, I’m here. If you need me.”

Keith laughed to himself. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m here too. If you wanna talk.”

Lance smiled, stretching. “Welp, if I die, now you know where to bury me,” he said simply. “Ready to head out? Allura’s off work today, so she’ll be there, and Shiro’s coming today, too.”

Keith blushed. “Shiro?” he asked.

Lance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yep, he’ll be there... what, you like him or something?”

They started walking back towards the sidewalk. Keith scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. His face felt hot... “No,” he said, a little too quickly.

Lance shook his head, laughing quietly. “Man, it’s okay if you do,” he said, “I don’t care.”

Keith bristled. “Well, I don’t. Why does he hang out here so much, anyway? Isn’t he, like, in college?”

“Yeah,” Lance said. The sun was starting to go down, and the golden-hour light caught on his cheekbones. “But he goes to the community one; it’s only, like, a half hour drive. Plus, we’re his best friends. We’re the favourites.”

Keith looked at the cracks in the sidewalk thoughtfully, studying the little weeds and clovers poking through the cement. “His favourites,” he said to himself.

Lance was quiet for a while. They walked a few blocks in silence.

When they were down the street from the park, when it was just coming into view, Keith could tell something was... off.

There were more people there than usual. Five more. All in black, and facing away from Lance and Keith. They al had dyed hair... one of them, familiar; long and white down their back. The others, the ones Keith knew — Pidge and Allura and Shiro and eveybody — Keith could see. And none of them looked happy.

Least of all Allura.

“Hey, who’s...” Lance started. He trailed off, eyes wide. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

“What?” Keith said, looking from Lance back to the group.

Then he remembered how he knew that white hair.

“Oh, fuck,” Keith cussed.

Then he was running.

“Keith, wait —“ Lance shouted. He grabbed the back of Keith’s flannel sweater; it was already unbuttoned, so Keith shifted his shoulders so that it just came off. He was left sprinting down the road in just a black t-shirt, shitty sneakers slapping against the asphalt.

“Allura!” he shouted, skidding to a stop between the groups. “What the hell’s going on? Are you okay?”

Allura didn’t look at him. She looked furious... eyes narrow, eyeshadow trailing onto her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she said curtly, “Thank you for asking, Keith.”

“Keith?” One of Lotor’s friends said softly.

Keith turned around. There were four girls — one with her good hiding her eyes, two with their arms around each other and practically snuggling right there in the middle of the confrontation, and —

Acxa.

He almost didn’t recognize her at first.

She had more piercings now — one in the cartilage at the top of her right ear, a chain connecting it with the stud in her earlobe. A septum ring. And her hair was dyed a dark blue now... and she was thinner, but at the same time, stronger.

She didn’t look anything like him anymore.

“Acxa?” Keith said quietly. “What — how —“

“Keith, what are you doing here?” Acxa said, still in disbelief.

The shock was wearing off for Keith, though. “What am I doing here? What the — what the fuck are you doing here?” He shouted. “You show up for the first time in months — I thought you were gone — and you ask me what I’m doing here? What the fuck, Acxa.”

Lotor looked over at Acxa calmly. “Your... brother?” he asked.

Acxa nodded. “Yes,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on Keith. “He is.”

Allura stepped forward. “Why are you here, Lotor?” she said pointedly. “Have you come to sell your pills again? Earn your living through enslaving bodies and minds to your medication?”

Lotor shook his head. He stepped closer to Allura, and she flinched. Pidge held her pocketknife tightly in her fist. Hunk looked like he might burst into tears... “No,” Lotor said calmly, “that is not my life anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.” He smiled, and it made something twist in Keith’s stomach. “I’ve returned to see you, Allura.”

Pidge was practically snarling. Keith could feel Lance’s nervous presence behind him.

Allura scoffed. “Are you? Why now? Why months after I’ve moved on? What changed inside you?”

“I love you,” Lotor said simply. “I wanted to wait until I was good enough to warn you back. I don’t sell, Allura — none of us here do. We’re worthy again. Please — just understand, that you are the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever needed. I know you still love me as well. Just... realize the potential we could share together.”

Something went dark in Acxa’s eyes, and she looked away.

Allura’s eyes changed, too — a glimmer of something that, had Keith not known her any better, could be seen as fear. Shiro tensed and moved closer to her protectively (were they... was something going on between them? Fuck, Keith hoped not.). (Now was not the time for him to think shit like that. God, Keith. Horny bastard.)

“I don’t want you back,” Allura said quietly. “I don’t.”

Lotor moved to cup her cheek.

And something in Keith’s chest — his self control — just fucking snapped.

He swung a fist, hard, at Lotor’s jaw. 

And then the doomsday clock hit midnight.

Someone screamed — Romelle? Probably — and someone else, maybe Lance, was grabbing the back of Keith’s shirt. Lotor himself stepped away, out of the whirlpool, but the two girls that had been cuddling were on Keith in an instant.

“Keith!” Shiro shouted.

Keith wasn’t entirely sure how he got on the ground, but he was, and everything hurt.

One of the women, the bigger one, slammed the toe of her boots into his stomach, and he dry-heaving. Something warm — blood? — spilled from his lips and onto the concrete; he didn’t want to look.

The other one slipped her long, delicate fingers in his hair and slammed his skull against the sidewalk.

Pidge screamed, and Keith heard footsteps running towards them, and then they stopped.

“Katie, stop!” Allura was shouting. She was holding her back, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Pidge struggled against her, blade whipped out and ready to cause damage.

“‘Lura, let me go!” she screamed, waving her arm in the air.

Keith tried to look up at everyone... the sunlight was blinding, and he just hurt. The streaks of light on the horizon were so beautiful, and he was bleeding from his scalp — he could feel the sticky warmth of blood in his hair, and it was warm outside again, and he thought maybe he was going to die.

“I-I’ll call the police!”

Immediately, as quickly as the fight broke out, it ceased. The girl who’d smashed Keith’s head into the sidewalk, the one with the hot pink ponytail, blinked. “I’m sorry, you’ll what?” 

Allura was still restraining Pidge, who’d stopped her kicking and screaming and was hanging limply in her arms. Acxa still wasn’t looking... she had a hand covering her mouth.

Hunk had his hand raised above his head, holding his phone. His thumb was hovering above ‘call’; he’d already dialled 911. “I’ll — I’ll call the police if you guys don’t stop!”

Instantly, the women took two steps back. “We don’t want that,” the bigger one said, holding her hands in front of her. 

“No, we do not,” Lotor sighed. The mark Keith had left on his jaw was already going red and blue. He turned his gaze curtly to Allura. “This was not how this was supposed to go,” he said calmly.

“It wouldn’t have gone down in the first place if you fuckers hadn’t shown up,” Pidge noted sharply from Allura’s grip.

“Pidge,” Shiro said sternly. (Fucking hell, Shiro. Jesus. Now was not the time for a fucking time-out and a goddamned talking-to.)

The air was tense, and the two groups stared each other down. Keith lay in the fetal position, straining to look up at the others.

Lotor sighed, again. “This is not the end,” he said simply. He turned and began to walk away. He raised a hand and beckoned for his friends to follow. “Come.”

The girlfriends shot the group one last look before they went after him. The hooded girl followed without a second glance.

Acxa stayed.

“Keith,” she said softly, “I —“

“Get the fuck outta here,” Pidge cussed. 

“Katie!” Shiro reprimanded.

Acxa looked down at Keith. Her eyes were wet, and it reminded Keith of the old days, back when he’d fall off his bike and scrape his knee and Acxa would try to help, but have no idea what she should do.

“Please,” he said weakly; his throat felt dull and torn. “Just go...”

Acxa cast one more look at him. (If Keith hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she felt remorse.)

“Acxa! C’mon!” The pink hair girl shouted. They were about to turn around the block.

Acxa frowned. She turned and jogged away.

No one did anything at first. 

Then Hunk started crying. 

“Oh man, that was crazy,” he sobbed, “Keith, what were you thinking, man? You could’ve gotten really hurt! They could’ve killed you!”

“Not if I killed them first,” Pidge muttered.

Shiro walked over to Keith and kneeled in front of him. “Hey,” he said, smiling.

The way the sunlight shone behind him made him look as though he was highlighted in a halo. (An angel. A real-life, living, breathing angel, right here in Garrison.)

Shiro’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. 

He was so pretty, and maybe, Keith thought, Lance was right.

Shiro offered a hand — the real one — to Keith, and Keith took it. Shiro tried to pull him up, but a wave of pain shot across Keith’s abdomen, and he cried out.

“Oh, hey, hey,” Shiro said softly, “I got you, buddy, I got you.”

He wrapped an arm around Keith’s wait and helped him up. Keith leaned into him a little more than he needed to. (Shiro was warm, and smelled like clean laundry. Fresh-from-the-dryer.)

Keith smiled up at him. “Thanks,” he said.

Shiro smiled back. “No problem, buddy.”

Lance moved closer to them and slipped his arm under Keith’s shoulders. Extra support. “You okay, man?”

Keith nodded, wincing. “Yeah — I think so.”

“I got him, Shiro,” Lance said. Shiro stepped back, and Keith felt the aching loss of him — the rush of warmth that left his side all at once.

“That was scary, man,” Hunk sighed, breath shaking.

“Are you alright, Allura?” Shiro asked.

Allura nodded and let Pidge go. Pidge turned right around and tucked her face against Allura’s shoulder, hugging her gently. “I’m fine,” Allura said quietly.

“What’s wrong with him,” Pidge mumbled into Allura’s hair. “Crazy fuck.”

“He tries too hard,” Romelle said simply. “Trying to sound Shakespearean, I think!”

“C’mon,” Lance said quietly, just to Keith. “Let’s go see Coran. He can help get you cleaned up.”

Keith nodded against Lance’s chest. (Lance was warm, too... he smelled like soap, though. Like Old Spice and Ace deodorant. Like teenage boy, but not one of the sweaty, gross ones — Keith hated that. Like a nice and clean one.) “Okay. Thanks.”

Lance smiled... “No problem.” He looked up, at the others. “Guys? Keith and I are gonna head out, gonna fix him up.”

Allura nodded, rubbing Pidge’s back. Pidge turned her head slightly, her brown eyes glistening behind her lenses.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hunk asked softly.

Keith thought about it.

Then he nodded. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

Shiro nodded back. “Good.”

“We’re gonna go,” Lance said. He kept his arm tight around Keith.

“Goodbye,” Romelle said weakly. Keith waved half heartedly.

“I love you,” Pidge mumbled. Allura ran a hand through her hair.

“I love you, too,” Keith told her.

And he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from adam (reformatory) by nicole dollanganger!
> 
> lotor being dapper as Fuck while everyone else is just?? normal?? is the funniest thing about this fic


	7. things don’t go like they should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> klance? maybe?
> 
> keith man get ur shit together

By the time they got up to Coran’s bathroom, in his little apartment above the store, the sun was completely gone over the horizon.

Coran had spent a half hour fretting over Keith before he’d sent the two of them upstairs. Literally wringing his hands. Literally fretting.

He told them to stay inside... it was too cold to sit out on the steps like last time. “Frost warning,” he’d said, “best to head upstairs.”

Keith was sitting on the bathroom counter, and they’d left the lights off; there was one of those little nightlights plugged into the wall, and it cast bluish shadows on his skin.

“Okay,” Lance said. He set the first-aid kit down on the counter and clicked the latch open. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He smudged some Polysporin on a scrape on Keith’s cheekbone, dabbing away the excess with a swan of toilet paper.

Lance still had Keith’s flannel slung over his shoulder. Keith rest his hands on his thighs.

“I’m surprised he let us up here,” Keith commented. “I mean, this is his house.”

“It’s actually not his house,” Lance said, “it’s his apartment. He doesn’t live here full-time... he’s Allura’s godfather; he lives with her in a house a few blocks from here. He only spends the night here when he stays really late after work. I know him pretty well. He used to babysit me, actually.”

“Oh,” Keith said. “Huh.” He wasn’t looking at him... his hair was all long and messy, and his bangs were hiding his face.

Lance checked Keith over. None of his injuries seemed super serious...

“You don’t have to do this,” Keith muttered. His eyelashes were long and dark, and his eyes. Fuck, his eyes, they were beautiful. Not blue, not purple. In-between, a blur of iris and pupil that barely differed in their darkness. 

Lance shrugged. “I want to, though,” he said simply. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.” He pressed a band-aid to Keith’s skin; he was warm. 

Keith sighed. “Fine.”

A car drove by outside, and the light from the headlights cast Keith in gold.

There were fading pink lines etched into Keith’s forearms... Lance frowned, but didn’t ask.

“Okay, I think you’re all set,” Lance said, shutting the kit. He tossed the war of toilet paper into the trash bin and pushed himself up onto the counter, his right thigh pressed against Keith’s left. “How you feeling?”

Keith shrugged. “Sore, I guess... the fucker deserved it, though.”

Lance laughed quietly. “Yeah, that he did,” he agreed. “How about your sister? Must’ve been crazy seeing her again... especially in a situation like that.”

Keith was quiet. “I... I don’t wanna talk about that. If that’s alright.”

Lance nodded. “Fair enough...”

The apartment was silent. The heater hummed, droning quietly, from the living room.

“Why do you fight?” Lance asked.

“Sorry?”

“Why do you get in fights all the time?” Lance said again. “Like, what’s in it for you?”

Keith shrugged. “It makes me feel better,” he admitted after a while. “Better than drinking, or smoking, or cutting, or... I dunno. Whatever else people do to make themselves feel better. Masturbating. I dunno.”

Lance laughed. “Better than jerking off?”

“Shut up,” Keith laughed with him, knocking their shoulders together. “It’s like... it just relieves stress. It’s like I’m addicted to it... I have to do it; it’s — it’s really the only thing that helps.”

“An addiction,” Lance repeated softly.

Keith nodded. “Yeah.” He took in a breath. “...My turn?” he asked.

“For what?”

“To ask you a question.”

Lance blushed and kicked his feet around. “Uh... I guess so. If you want...”

“How come you barely eat?”

Lance pouted, his heart beating way too fast. “I eat,” he said indignantly.

“Not enough,” Keith argued, nudging Lance’s knee with his own.

“I eat...” Lance said again, searching the corners of his brain for a good excuse. “Just... not really in front of other people. It’s this weird thing I have. It makes me feel weird. Y’know?”

Keith shrugged. “I guess that makes sense...”

Lance’s heart was really going haywire now... banging around his ribcage. Beating so fast, it nearly hurt. His head was all light and airy, too... and his veins felt fluttery, nervous. “How... uh. How did you know that you were... y’know. How’d you know you were gay?”

He waited. Keith looked like he was choking...

“Uh,” Keith got out finally, “I... I really don’t know the answer to that one, a-actually. I guess I just kind of always knew? Since I was a kid. Guys were just... better than girls to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like... I liked them better. They were more... appealing to me. Looked better, sounded better, smelled better... just. Better.” He sighed, dragging his hands through his hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably the straightest guy in all of Garrison.” Keith looked at him. His eyes sparkled in the glow from the plug-in light. “Why do you ask?”

Lance felt his face go warm. (Along with his chest. And stomach. And the rest of his fucking body. Keith was so close to him... too close.)

Straightest guy in Garrison.

Lance looked over Keith’s eyelashes, his cheekbones, his mouth. The shadow of his collarbone was visible through his t-shirt, and his hair was all mussed up...

Maybe Lance wasn’t the straightest guy in Garrison after all.

“I...” he said, “I dunno.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Lance... do you think you might... not be straight?”

Lance shook his head. “I-I don’t... I really...”

Indigo.

Keith’s eyes were indigo.

Lance pushed himself forward and kissed him, hard.

And the world dissolved. 

The butterflies in Lance’s stomach went crazy, and his palms were pouring sweat. He put his hands on Keith’s cheeks, and, after a few seconds, Keith followed.

Lance licked Keith’s tongue, and Keith bit his bottom lip.

Lance didn’t care what this meant. Not for the moment, anyway. He didn’t care if this made him gay, or bi, or whatever the fuck else kissing a boy could mean.

All he knew was that Keith was beautiful. And that Lance had wanted to do this for weeks.

“Keith,” he whispered once they’d pulled apart, “I... I think I really kind of like you? And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before; I just wasn’t really sure, and... yeah. I like you. A lot.”

Keith looked at him, but the look in his eyes...

It was all wrong.

“Lance,” he said, “I... that’s... wow.”

Lance bit his bottom lip. (His own this time.) “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“I...” Keith stuttered, “I... look, Lance, you’re really cool, and I like you, definitely, but... I just. Don’t really know if I like you like that.”

And then the world collapsed.

“Oh,” Lance said softly. His eyes were burning, and they were wet, and there was no way in hell he was going to cry in front of Keith. 

There was a hurricane in his chest. A tsunami broke waves over his heart.

“Hey, hey, I’m really sorry,” Keith said softly. He wiped his thumbs over Lance’s cheeks; tears were falling and trailing down his face. (Fuck. No crying, Lance. Jesus.) “Hey... don’t cry, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I just... fuck, Keith, I thought,” Lance whimpered, trying to not absolutely break down in fits of sobs. It was hard. Really fucking hard. “I thought... I dunno, that I could... I don’t...”

“Hey, c’mon,” Keith whispered. He pulled Lance against his chest and starting running his fingers through Lance’s hair. “You’re okay; you’re okay now. I’m really, really sorry, Lance... I have some stuff I need to sort through right now. Okay? Maybe I do like you. I’ll have to think about it. Okay? Please don’t feel bad.”

“I just,” Lance hiccuped. “I didn’t mean to... make you un-uncomfortable, or-or anything.”

“Hey, you didn’t... didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Okay? I’m not mad. I’m not upset. Just let me think about it, okay?”

Lance sobbed against Keith’s shirt.

Keith was warm.

The room was quiet.

“Let me think about it,” Keith kept murmuring, “let me think about it.”

Keith ended up calling a cab. Lance gave him his sweater back.

Lance stood on the curb and watched him go... Keith shot him one last reassuring smile before he got in.

Lance waved halfheartedly. It was cold outside; Coran was right.

Lance went back inside.

“Ah, Lance!” Coran said. He wiped his hands on his work pants. “I was just finishing up down here; would you like me to drive you home?”

Lance kept his hands in his jeans to keep them from shaking. “Actually, can I stay here tonight? My mom won’t mind; I just... really don’t feel like going anywhere.”

Coran frowned. “Well, is everything alright? Did something go wrong with Keith?”

“No; I just...” Lance said pathetically. He shrugged. He was sure Coran could tell he’d been crying... Coran just knew things. He could just tell.

“...Alright,” Coran agreed. “Head on up, lad, and I’ll call your mum and let her know.”

Lance smiled genuinely. “Thanks, Coran.”

Coran smiled back. “No worries, my boy.”

Lance clapped his shoulder on the way to the stairs.

A candle was lit on the coffee table in Coran’s living room, and the walls were lit up in flickering orange light.

Lance sat on the couch and turned on the TV. One of those house-hunting shows was on... Lance didn’t bother changing the station.

He checked his phone. The group chat was blowing up with messages, but Keith wasn’t active.

lvrboy: Hey guys. Gn  
pidwigeon2005: hey lance gn  
h_garret: Good night!

He texted Keith, too. Just for closure.

lvrboy: goodnight

Keith didn’t open it. Maybe his phone died.

Lance laid down and pulled a throw blanket over him. He was half-asleep by the time Coran came upstairs.

Lance could hear him talking on the phone in the next room... then he heard footsteps, and there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Phone for you,” Coran whispered.

Lance took it. “Hey, mami.”

“Lancey?” his mother said. Her voice was altered through the phone. “Is everything alright?”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, mom. I’m fine. Everything’s cool.”

“Are you sure? You usually stay at Coran’s when you’ve been having a bad day...”

“No, mami, I’m fine,” Lance mumbled. He felt like he might cry again. “I’m okay.”

“Okay... I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.”

“Good night, Lance.”

“Good night, mom.” 

His mother hung up. Lance put the phone on the table and wiped his eyes with the blanket.

Coran came back into the room with a mug of warm milk. “I added some cinnamon and a bit of honey; makes it taste better,” he told Lance, setting it down in front of him. 

“Thank you,” Lance whispered. He was crying now; he tried to do it quietly, to keep it secret.

Coran sat at his feet for an hour after that, patting Lance’s calf somewhat soothingly. “It’s alright, son,” he kept saying, “it’ll all be alright.”

Coran went to bed at eleven-thirty; Lance guessed he thought he was asleep.

Keith didn’t like Lance.

And for whatever reason, that rejection hurt the very most.

Lance’s warm milk sat on the table and got cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from ‘american tradition’ by nicole dollanganger! 
> 
> next chapter will be longer, promise; i’ve got a lottttt of stuff planned and some Drama is coming up in chapter 9 :0


	8. all that glitters

For nearly a week, everything was fine.

Nearly a week. Six days.

The Wednesday after the whole ‘what-if-we-kissed-in-Coran’s-bathroom’ situation, at nine o’clock at night, Keith got a phone call.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Heh... hey, Keith, what’s up?”

Lance’s voice was warm and smooth — too smooth. Cream left out in the pitcher.

“Not much... Lance, what’s going on?”

“Wha — nothing... nothing’s going on. What’s going on with you?”

“Lance, are you — are you drunk?”

Lance scoffed, but it came out too slow. “Nooooo,” he said, giggling. “Not drunk. Why’d I be drunk?”

Keith stood up; he’d been laying on his bed, watching YouTube videos. He did a little circle in his sock feet, starting to panic. “Fuck. You’re drunk. Fuck.”

Lance laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “Shh, stop swearing.”

“Lance, where are you? Are you at home?” Keith put his phone on speaker and tugged on a zip-up hoodie over his t-shirt. (He was in his pyjama pants... red and black plaid.) 

“Nope,” Lance said, popping the ‘p’. “Just... walkin’ around.”

“Where?” Keith half-shouted. (He didn’t mean to sound so rude, but, fuck. Lance shouldn’t be just wandering around town shitfaced... especially not in this cold, and especially not this late at night. Lance was pretty, and he wasn’t the strongest guy around...)

“You don’t have to be so mad,” Lance pouted. “Uh... ‘M on Beckley Road.”

“That’s close to Quickie, right?” 

“Yup. Why? Want something?”

“Ah... no, just — you should probably go there,” Keith told him hastily. He pulled on a pair of shoes and picked up his phone again. “Wait there, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Lance said. He giggled again, then yawned.

“Lance, how much did you have?” Keith pressed his phone between his shoulder and his ear, tying his laces.

“Mm... dunno, like... five?”

“Shit.”

“Stop swearing, Keith; do you kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Shut up,” Keith hissed. Lance went quiet. Keith immediately felt bad; drunken Lance probably took that to heart. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? Just... go to Quickie. I’m comin’ to get you.”

“Keith?”

Keith stopped. Lance’s voice sounded so small all of a sudden... “Yeah?”

“Who is it?”

“Who, Lance?”

“Who is it that... you wanna kiss more than you wanna kiss me?”

Keith frowned. “Lance...”

“...I’m going,” Lance whined, and Keith could hear footsteps. 

“Where are you going?”

“Quickie, remember?”

Keith let out a long breath of air, pinching the bridge of his nose. “... Yeah. Okay.”

“‘Kay,” Lance said, suddenly cheerful again, “Bye bye.”

“Bye, Lance,” Keith said quietly, “see you soon.”

Lance hung up.

Keith needed to get there. And fast.

Keith’s mom wasn’t home, and he only knew one other person with a car.

“Hey, you’ve reached Takashi.”

“Hey, Shiro? It’s Keith.”

Shiro sounded genuinely happy to hear from him, and that fact made Keith’s stomach twist guiltily. “Hey, Keith, what’s up?”

Keith took in a breath. “Listen, I know it’s late, but... can I get a lift?”

Keith took one last look at his dresser before he left. He’d tucked Lance’s school photo between the pages of a book, just the corner peeking out.

He took the photo out and pressed it to his lips, just for a second, then put it down and made a run for the front door.

“So... what’s wrong with him?”

Shiro was driving the car, and Keith sat in the passenger seat. He was drumming his real fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Keith tried not to stare at his prosthetic.

“He’s drunk,” Keith said, “really drunk. Completely out of his mind. He said he drank five...”

“Five what?” Shiro wouldn’t take his eyes off the road.

Keith sighed sharply. “I dunno. I didn’t ask.”

“You should’ve asked...” Shiro turned his blinker on and rolled on to the next street.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” Keith bit back.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Shiro said. “But that’s good information to have. It could’ve been something strong... six beers is a lot different than six shots.”

Keith slumped back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah... you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Keith,” Shiro said softly. “I know you’re worried about him.”

Keith looked out the window. It was dark, and the streetlights were a stark yellow against the navy blue sky. “...I am,” he admitted softly.

“He likes you a lot, you know,” Shiro said simply. They were getting close... “He really looks up to you.”

Keith’s entire body heated up. “He does?” he whispered.

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. He does. He thinks you’re the coolest kid ever.” He laughed softly. “Well, I mean. I guess you know all that already.”

Keith shook his head. “No, I... I didn’t.”

Shiro cut a glance at him across the gearshift. “I thought you two were...?”

It took Keith a moment to realize what Shiro was trying to say. “Oh,” he said. “No. We’re not — we’re not like that.”

“Are you sure?” The sign for Quickie was bright on the horizon.

“Yes,” Keith sighed. “I’m sure.”

Shiro shrugged. “Alright,” he said, clearly not convinced.

They pulled up to the curb, and Keith unbuckled his seat belt. “We’re not,” he said again, emphatic.

“Alright,” Shiro said again.

Pidge’s brother Matt was waiting outside, arms crossed over his chest.

Coran wasn’t there.

Just Matt. And Matt was clearly freaking out.

“I sent him upstairs,” he said, all in a rush, “I-I didn’t know what else to do; he said you were coming, and I’m on the night shift — Coran wasn’t feeling well, so he went back home, and I’m all alone here, and —“

“Matt, it’s okay,” Shiro told him. “Just. Calm down.” He turned to Keith, eyes gentle as ever. “Keith. Head on upstairs and get Lance, and we’ll be waiting down here.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?” Keith asked thickly.

Shiro shook his head. “No... I think this is between you and Lance. You and Lance alone.”

Keith frowned at him...

Then took the stairs two at a time.

The apartment was quiet, and lit with a fuzzy candlelit glow.

The door was unlocked, so Keith just went right in. He knocked softly on the entranceway wall... “Lance? You in here?”

He heard someone hiccup... “K-Keith?” Lance called back pathetically.

Keith followed the voice to the living room... Lance was sitting all alone on the couch, arms wrapped around his chest and rocking slightly. “Hey, buddy, hey,” Keith said, like he was approaching something wounded. “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

Lance shook his head; his eyes were wet. “Not good,” he whimpered.

“Not very good, huh?” Keith agreed, sitting down next to him. He rubbed circles into Lance’s back in what he hoped was a soothing pattern. “Hey... you good to go home?”

Lance shook his head. A tear spilled out from the movement, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his sweater sleeve. “Can I have water?” he mumbled, “I’m thirsty.”

“Okay,” Keith whispered, “uh —“ he got off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, opening cupboard after cupboard, searching for a glass. 

He filled a cup and texted Shiro. 

kogane_k: Hey. Lance needs a minute

kogane_k: Hes not ready to leave yet. He’s still pretty bad.

kogane_k: I’m giving him some water now. Might take about ten-twenty minutes to get him outta here.

takashishirogane: Okay. Thanks for letting me know.

kogane_k: No problem

Keith brought Lance the glass... he held it steady for him as he drank.

“Thank you,” Lance said sweetly, a dribble of water dripping down his chin.

Keith laughed quietly. “Hey, no problem.” Lance leaned against him and sniffled. “Better now?”

Lance shook his head. “Why don’t you want me?” he mumbled, slurring just slightly.

Keith kept his hand in the middle of Lance’s back. “Hey... I never said that. Why would you think that?”

Lance shrugged, and his breath caught. “... You said that... you didn’t like me like that.”

“Well. I did say that,” Keith admitted, “but I also said I would think about it.”

Lance perked up. “Did you think about it?”

Keith laughed. “I did...”

“And you don’t... like Shiro anymore?”

Keith stopped. “I, uh.”

This was it. That was just the thing.

Keith had thought about it... he really did.

And the more he thought, the more he realized: he liked Lance. Lance was cute. Pretty skin, pretty eyes. Just. Cute. (And sweet, and funny, and nice, and he would be a perfectly suitable boyfriend, Keith was sure. And he made Keith feel things... really good things. Butterflies.)

But...

But this was Garrison.

He wasn’t sure — he knew if he told Lance he liked him, Lance would want to go out. Together. As boyfriends.

But if Keith kept his quiet, unspoken crush on Shiro...

Wouldn’t that be safer? For everyone? 

It would keep Lance safer, for sure. Keith was already in pretty much constant danger every day just for liking dick...

If Lance got involved, well. Fuck. His reputation would be destroyed. 

Keith didn’t want him to go through that.

But there was something in Lance’s eyes tonight. A shine that was maybe brought on by the alcohol, but also maybe wasn’t. Maybe it was always there.

And he was beautiful.

“I... I think I like you,” Keith whispered, not thinking. Lance blinked. “Actually — yeah. I know I like you. You’re awesome, you’re — you’re amazing. Yeah, okay, maybe I have a crush on Shiro? So what — I like you, too. And you like me. And I think that means something.” He took in a breath. “But I also don’t want you to be in danger. And this isn’t really a safe place for people like us. I want you to live your life, and — and not be worried about getting in any shit because of who you are. Okay?”

Lance blinked again, slowly.

Then he kissed him, just slowly this time.

Keith didn’t kiss back.

Lance pulled away, and he looked hurt. “Why don’t you...?” Lance whispered.

Keith sat back. “Because you’re drunk,” he whispered back. “I don’t know if it’s you that’s kissing me, or if it’s the alcohol.”

(Lance didn’t taste like shots; he tasted like beer. Five beers were a lot different than five shots. Keith would let Shiro know later.)

“It’s me,” Lance whined.

Keith laughed. He put his hands on Lance’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. “I know it’s you,” he told him. “But I don’t feel right kissing you while you’re drunk. You’re not in your right state of mind... maybe when you’re all better. Okay?”

Lance smiled reluctantly. “Okay,” he murmured.

“So?” Keith said. He rubbed his nose against Lance’s, and Lance giggled softly. “Are you ready to go?”

Lance put his face against Keith’s shoulder. “... I think so,” he whispered. Keith could hear him smiling.

“Okay, baby. C’mon.”

Shiro and Matt were sitting on the curb.

“So, listen,” Matt was telling him, “Saturday the 30th? Pidge and I are hosting a party at our place.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “A party? At your house? Not to be rude or anything, but. That sounds... not very fun.”

Matt laughed. “No, no, it’s like, an actual thing. Like an actual party, not just a D&D campaign. Like, cool people are gonna be there; I sent a mass email.”

“‘An actual thing’,” Shiro echoed. He was smiling... it was cold, and no one was out on the roads tonight. “Well, okay.”

Matt perked up. “Yeah? Oh my god, you have to meet my friends. There’s this group chat I’m a part of? A lot of them go to your college. They’re really awesome, Shiro, trust me. Kinda makes me wish I hadn’t taken this stupid gap year.”

Shiro laughed, and the door chimes behind them.

Keith and Lance limped our from the store together, Keith supporting Lance with an arm tight around his middle. “Hey,” he called softly. Lance’s eyes were nearly closed.

“Hey,” Shiro said, standing up. “How’re you doing, buddy?”

Lance whined. “Not great,” he muttered, eyelashes fluttering lazily.

“That’s what happens,” Shiro muttered. He turned to Matt. “Thanks for watching him.”

Matt shrugged. “No problem. It wasn’t exactly like I could just leave him out there...”

“Still. Thanks.” Shiro smiled, and Matt smiled back.

“Okay.” Shiro tossed his car keys in the air and caught them in one hand. “Let’s rock and roll.”

Keith sat with Lance in the back. The radio was on, but it was on CBC and too quiet to listen to anyway.

He held Lance’s hand between the seats. Lance rest his head on Keith’s shoulder, breathing rhythmically and softly.

Keith used his free hand to send him a text.

kogane_k: Hey

kogane_k: Feeling ok?

Lance’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he woke up enough to check it.

lvrboy: Yeah

lvrboy: Better now

kogane_k: Good.

lvrboy is typing...

Keith let him write out what he needed to say. He stared out the window... they were driving past fields of wheat, halfway to nowhere by now. (Even more ‘nowhere’ than Garrison. Just farmland and poorly paved highway.)

Keith got a message.

lvrboy: I really like you, just thought you should know that

Keith looked up at Lance. Lance was too shy to look back... his skin was a navy blue in the darkness.

kogane_k: I know. I like you too.

lvrboy: Fr?

kogane_k: Yeah. I think so.

lvrboy: :)

Keith laughed.

kogane_k: :)

Shiro pulled off to the side of the road, in front of a large house surrounded by fields. There was an actual barn in the back. Cows and everything.

“Lance,” he said quietly. “you’re home.”

Lance sat up and groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“You okay?” Keith asked softly. Lance nodded.

“Yeah, just... had a little too much.” Lance shot him a smile; it made Keith’s chest go all warm and fuzzy.

“Alright,” Shiro said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

He texted Veronica.

takashishirogane: Hey. Can you make sure no one hears Lance get in? He’s kind of drunk, and I don’t want him getting in trouble.

v.mcclain is typing...

v.mcclain: You’re actually kind of ridiculously irresponsible, Takashi Shirogane. A more law-abiding man would allow an underage drinker to be punished accordingly.

takashishirogane: Your mom would kill him. I want him alive, thank you very much.

v.mcclain: Lmao true.

v.mcclain: Alright, I’m coming to the door.

Veronica helped Lance and Keith sneak downstairs.

Lance’s bedroom was painted dark blue, with Polaroid pictures strung up along the walls. There was a dark wood bookshelf pressed next to his dresser, crammed top to bottom with shitty 2000s movies... there were sticky stars on his ceiling.

“Wow,” Keith said simply. Lance was holding his hand. “Where are all the Sports Illustrated posters?”

Lance laughed; he was getting sober again, you could tell. “Are you kidding? My mom would burn me alive.” He picked up his pitch a couple notches. “¡No te crié para ser mujeriego!”

Keith laughed back. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t be good.”

Lance shook his head. “Nope. It wouldn’t be.” He sat down on the bed and pulled Keith with him.

Keith looked around the room. “So...”

“So.” Lance was blushing, and a lot more sober than he’d been an hour ago.

“Doing better now?” Keith asked, squeezing his hand. 

Lance nodded. “Yeah. A lot less drunk, at least... my head hurts, though.”

Keith shrugged. “Well, yeah. You kinda went crazy there.”

“l was sad,” Lance said nonchalantly. “I do that sometimes. You fight, I drink. Not that big of a deal.”

Keith was quiet. “Was it because of me?” he asked softly.

Lance thought about that for a moment. “I mean, kind of,” he admitted, holding Keith’s hand a little more firmly. “I was kinda mad that you weren’t into me, but... I mean, guess that’s not fair of me.”

“Nah, not really,” Keith said. He shot Lance a glance out of the corner of his eye. “And... you were kind of wrong.”

Lance laughed, his mouth closed. “I kind of was...”

“I do like you,” Keith rambled. “I actually really like you. I wasn’t sure if you were, like, really into me, or if you were just... messing around.”

“‘Messing around’?”

“Yeah. Questioning. Experimenting... it’s happened to me before. It hurts. Especially when I really like the guy, and he’s just testing some things out.”

Lance turned to him then. “Well, I know that I like you,” he said. “for sure.”

“You’re sure.”

Lance nodded. “Yes, Keith, I’m sure,” he said, emphatic. “I like you. A lot. The same or more than I’ve ever liked a girl. And — yeah, I may not know what that means for me — if I’m gay or bi or whatever — but I know that I wanna be with you. For sure.”

Keith looked him over. Lance’s eyes weren’t foggy anymore.

“Are...” he started. He cleared his throat. “Are you still drunk?”

Lance blinked. “I mean... not really,” he whispered. “Just a little... why?”

Keith kissed him, just quickly. Just a fast little press.

Lance’s face was red when he pulled away. “O-oh,” he stuttered.

Keith stood up. “Are we okay?” he asked quietly.

Lance paused... then he smiled. “... Yeah,” he said. “We’re okay.”

Keith smiled back. “Good.” 

He gave him one more kiss goodnight. “G’night,” Lance said sweetly.

Keith was holding his hand, just lightly. He pulled away gently, their index fingers still hooked together at the last knuckle. “G’night, Lance. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”

When Keith went to close the bedroom door behind him, Lance gave him a shy smile and waved.

Keith waved back.

They were quieter on the car ride home.

Keith crossed his arms and watched out the window.

“So,” Shiro said. “I’m gonna ask again, and if you don’t wanna tell me, I won’t bother you again. Are you and Lance seeing each other?”

Keith blushed and looked at his shoes. “I... I dunno,” he mumbled. “Maybe, now.”

Shiro was smiling. “Maybe, now?”

“I think I like him,” Keith admitted. “And he’s told me — multiple times, actually — that he likes me. So. Maybe there’s something.”

Shiro turned onto a smaller road... they were back in town now, getting close to home. “Your house is on Rodnick Street, right?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro turned again, left this time. “I’m proud of you two,” he said simply. “I could kind of tell that Lance had feelings for you... he gets this look in his eyes when he talks to you. You’re all he can see.”

Keith thought about that.

Shiro pulled over, in front of Keith’s house. His mom was home by now, and one of the lights was on inside the house, casting vague golden light on the driveway. “You like him, right?” 

Keith stared at the road through the dashboard window. “Yeah,” he said softly, finally. “I do.”

Shiro smiled, unlocking the doors. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from ‘white trashing’ by nicole dollanganger... at this point you probably know that every chapter is based off of her music lmao
> 
> IM SO EXCITED FOR NEXT CHAPTER AAAA THAT ONE IS MY FAVOURITE


	9. make me fall in love with you

7:29 am

lvrboy: Hey  
kogane-k: Hey.  
lvrboy: It ok if I call you?  
kogane-k: Sure. Now?  
lvrboy: Yeah if you’re not busy  
kogane-k: Yeah go ahead  
lvrboy: K

“Hey, Lance.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you feeling?”

“Ugh, y’know. My head’s pounding and I’m kinda nauseous… hangover stuff.”

“That sucks…”

“I’ll survive. Hey, I kinda wanted to talk to you about some stuff? About last night?”

“Uh… okay, sure.”

“Um… did I, like… was I pushing you at all?”

“What? No, you weren’t pushing me. What do you mean?”

“Like… did I force you into things that you didn’t want? Because I know that I can come off kinda strong, and I feel like I was being really… agh, y’know. Forceful. Pushy.”

“No, of course not. Lance. No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah -- yeah, of course I’m sure. Did I push you at all?”

“No! No, no, you didn’t.”

“I just -- agh, now I’m thinking about it… you were drunk; you probably weren’t in your right state of mind -- I shouldn’t have kissed you at all, that was kind of assault --”

“No! No, Keith, it wasn’t; I remember everything, I wasn’t, like, out of my head or anything -- I wanted to kiss you. I don’t regret it at all.”

“You don’t?”  
“No, I don’t.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“... Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think… that you wanna… I dunno, go… go out with me, maybe?”

“... Lance…”

“I know, I know. I know it’s not super safe. But, I just. I like you. And I don’t wanna have to like you from a distance. I wanna have you. I wanna be with you. Okay? You can say no. It’s cool.”

“... I like you, too. But… you’re right. It isn’t safe here. And I really, really don’t want you getting hurt. I don’t want you losing friends or -- or your spots on any of your teams or anything.”

“You really think that would happen?”

“I don’t know if it would for sure… but it could. We live in Garrison, Lance.”

“Yeah… but we could keep it secret, y’know? We could hide it… we could hide us. Nobody has to know. We could just not even talk to each other at school -- nobody would see anything. Nobody would know.”

“Lance… you really think I could go without talking to you all day?”

“... You mean you can’t?”

“Of course I can’t. I like you. I need to talk to you, and I need to hang out with you -- right now, you’re, like, the highlight of my day. Of all my days.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, Lance. For real. I can’t pretend to not like you or not be friends with you… I just. I need my time with you.”

“Okay… well, could we figure something out? Something so that we can have each other. Safely. So that no one would find out?”

“... We can try.”

“... Did you just say yes to going out with me?”

“I think I kind of did.”

“Oh. Oh, my god. Okay! Wow! This is awesome, you -- you actually like me!”

“Yeah. I do. I really do.”

“This is so cool. Wow. Okay. So, I’ll see you at school, then I guess?”

“For sure. See you later, Lance.”

“Okay. Bye!”

“Bye.”

Keith hung up with a smile on his face.

A boyfriend. He had an actual boyfriend. And that boyfriend was Lance.

For once, he couldn’t wait to get to school.

When Acxa woke up, she wasn’t on the couch.

Which is where she usually slept in this shitty motel. There were probably, like, a thousand different species of nits and lice and bedbugs that lived between the sofa coushins, but. Whatever. She was okay with living with that reality.

Except, right now, she was tucked between sheets. Shitty sheets, mind you, but sheets.

She was not on the couch.

The sunlight streamed through the window, golden and thick, and slowly, Acxa sat up.

Lotor slept softly beside her, white hair like feathers framing his face. The sunlight caught on his dark skin, and he was pretty. Like a fairy tale. (Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping? Yes. Beautiful? Absolutely.)

Acxa checked the clock on the end table… it was 10:37 in the morning.

Ezor, Zethrid, and Narti were gone. They’d left a note, scrawled on the complimentary motel sticky note pad… they’d gone out for breakfast.

Acxa stretched. Lotor stirred beside her.

He’d had a nightmare last night.

Or, at least, Acxa assumed he did. He’d been whimpering in his sleep, and tossing around -- just a little.

She’d sat on the side of his bed to soothe him, try and settle him down. She’d been so tired… she must’ve fallen asleep.

Anyway. So she’d slept with Lotor last night.

(Not slept with him-slept with him… just napped there. He was warm. And he’d leaned into her instantly in his sleep when she’d gone over to comfort him, and it was such a cozy way of cuddling that she couldn’t help but go lights out almost instantly.)

Anyway, now Lotor was awake, and he was sitting up, too. He blinked a few times, staring straight ahead, before he noticed Acxa’s prescence beside him. He startled. “Oh -- good morning,” he said, surprised.

“Good morning,” Acxa said weakly.

“I’d forgotten about you crawling in last night,” he admitted quietly. He was blushing… it was kind of sweet.

“Yeah…” she said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s completely alright.”

They were quiet.

Acxa wanted to ask him why they were here.

Acxa wanted to ask him what he’d been dreaming about. 

But she didn’t.

So. A few weeks went by.

Lance and Keith were officially a thing.

Kicking each other playfully beneath the table in the library. Meeting up in the bathroom during class for a quick kiss. Going places after school… cafes and parks and, increasingly often, Lance’s house.

Keith had never had to actually say anything to Lance’s mom… Lance would do all the talking. (“Hey, mom? This is my friend, Keith. We’re gonna go watch TV.”)

He was grateful for that. Something about the idea of talking to Lance’s mom, even just polite conversation, made Keith want to puke.

Anyway. It was October 29th, the day before the party at Pidge’s house. Lance and Keith were watching Friends in Lance’s basement, and Lance had his arm around Keith’s shoulders.

“So,” he said, “what are you gonna wear tomorrow?”

“I dunno,” Keith said, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Lance’s lap. On the television, Joey did something stupid, and the audience laughed. “Clothes?”

Lance smiled. “No, I meant, like, are you gonna wear a costume?”

Keith scoffed. “No,” he said, “I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since, like, fourth grade.”

“What were you in fourth grade?”

“The red Power Ranger.”

“Awwwww!”

“Shut up,” Keith laughed, “that’s not cute…”

“Yeah, it is… hey. Couples costumes! We should be matching!”

Keith rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Keep dreaming, McClain.” He propped himself up on his hands and kissed Lance on the cheek.

That made Lance beam, which in turn made Keith blush and kiss him on the mouth.

And then they were making out.

That lasted about, what, maybe five minutes? Before they heard the front door open upstairs, and Lance’s mom dissolved into a puddle of joy. 

“Oh, hello!” Keith heard her say, muffled by the floor between the upstairs and the basement. “Oh, my goodness, I forgot you were coming to visit us today! Come in, come in! I’ll put the kettle on; Lance is just downstairs with a friend.”

Keith broke away from the kiss… Lance’s eyes were closed, and he opened them, just slowly. “Who’s that?” Keith murmured.

Lance smiled. “I think it might be my grandma,” he said softly. He went to pull Keith in for another kiss; Keith obliged, then broke away.

“Your -- I’m sorry, your grandma is here?”

Lance cocked his head to the side. “Yeah… is that a problem?”

Keith’s heart was beating, way too hard and way too fast. “Um,” he said, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable…”

Lance frowned. “Oh.”

“I’m really sorry,” Keith said quickly, “I just… I mean, I’m scared of just being around your mom… I don’t know if I could handle…”

Lance was pouting, and it broke Keith’s heart. “Oh... “ he said sadly. “Okay. Do you wanna go home?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. His stomach twisted, and he felt so guilty. “I’m sorry, baby, I just. I can’t.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lance said. He rest his head on Keith’s shoulder, just for a moment. “I’ll miss you.”

Keith kissed the top of his head. “I know, baby. I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Are you gonna go through the back door?” Lance murmured.

Keith nodded. “Yeah… I think so.” He cupped Lance’s cheeks in his hands and made him look up. He smiled. “Kiss.”

Lance kissed him, then pulled back, smiling sadly. “See you tomorrow,” he said sweetly.

“See you tomorrow.”

Keith pulled the back sliding glass door closed behind him. Lance waved through the window and blew him a kiss. Keith smiled and pretended like he caught it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its so short :((((
> 
> the next one is actually my favourite i love that chapter sm, yall are not READY for this


	10. you're so cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TEEHEE FINALLY THE GOOD ONE. in advance, i am sorry.
> 
> TW; self harm, references to suicidal thoughts

Lance frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

Nothing was working for him today. Nothing he tried on looked right. (Although, in his personal opinion, none of his clothes ever looked right. But that was probably just him.)

On his dresser, his phone was blowing up. The group chat was wild today, everyone excited for the party at Pidge's...

And yeah, Lance was a little excited too. (For him, going to the party was an excuse to get to see Keith for a couple extra hours. They usually only got about two or three extra hours of time together after school -- hopefully, though, today they'd be able to squeeze in even more than that.)

He had a separate text tone for direct messages from Keith... a text tone that rang out now.

Lance immediately turned away from the mirror and snatched up his phone. He smiled down at the pixels, sliding the lock screen open.

kogane-k: Hey  
lvrboy: !!! Hey!  
lvrboy: How are you?  
kogane-k: Haha I'm good. How are you?  
kogane-k: Excited?  
lvrboy: Of course I am!  
lvrboy: Can't wait to see you :)  
kogane-k: Me neither

Lance bounced around a little bit on his heels, grinning like an idiot. God. He really liked this guy.

kogane-k: So what are you wearing? Some stupid costume I assume  
lvrboy: Haha noooo  
lvrboy: Just regular clothes  
kogane-k: Haha good  
lvrboy: :......(  
kogane-k: :)  
kogane-k: I'm sure you'll look great either way.

Lance hummed to himself happily, then set his phone down and looked at himself again.

Okay. Maybe he looked okay. Keith probably wouldn't mind what he looked like... he never seemed to really care about that. (If he cared about Lance's looks, he probably wouldn't be dating him.)

Lance shook out his shoulders and pat his face, trying to loosen up.

It was four-fifteen... which seemed like a suitable time to get ready to go.

He could hardly wait.

Matt was not expecting a turnout like this.

He'd only invited, like, what, a dozen people?

And Matthew Holt was no scholar, but he was pretty sure he could count. And there was way more than a fucking dozen people in his goddamned house right now.

Somebody must have taken it upon themselves to add to the guest list... and add to the guest list they did. There were at least fifty people here, and those were only the ones in the main living room area. God knows who had gone upstairs, down to the basement... there very well could be over a hundred people at the party. And they'd brought alcohol, and turned the music way up; Matt could hardly think through all that noise...

Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck.

Hunk and Shay had shown up first, with his hands heavy with plastic shopping bags full of snacks and supplies... then Lance burst through the front door, asking if Keith was there yet. Then Allura, then Shiro, then too many others to count, most of which Matt couldn't even name.

Matt scanned the living room, taking mental inventory of who was situated where. 

Allura was talking to Romelle and Shay over in the corner, holding a red plastic cup... Hunk and some other boy that Matt vaguely recognized from the Garrison high school were setting up a table with snacks. No sign of Lance. Keith had yet to arrive.

Matt sighed, winding the cords of his earbuds around his fingers. He wasn't having very much fun.

Party's were supposed to be fun, right? Matt had never actually gone to a house party while he was in high school; he'd prioritized studying over his social life. Now he kind of wished he hadn't.

He also wished he hand't taken this gap year. Maybe college parties had more in it for him. More intellectual, indoor-voiced conversation, less bass rattling the fucking floorboards so strongly you could feel it in your bones.

Pidge ran up to him then, little sock feet sliding across the surface of the floor. She skid to a stop next to him, jamming her elbow into his side. "Well. This is quite the gathering," she shouted over the music, amused.

Matt shook his head. "I guess you could say that," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shouted back. 

Pidge was wearing an Overwatch shirt that hung down to her knees, her basketball shorts just visible where the hem of the t-shirt ended. She looked like she wasn't wearing pants... she looked like a sixth-grader. "Wild," she said, mostly to herself. "Anyway. There's that girl from my geo class; gotta ask her about the exam. See ya, Matt."

And then she was gone.

Matt sighed, again, more exaggeratedly this time. Hoping that someone would notice and ask him what was wrong. 

Nobody looked his way.

He put his headphones in and cranked them all the way up.

He wasn't having any fun, anyway.

Lance was hiding in a bathtub.

Someone had brought booze. Lance wanted to distance himself from it as much as he could, just in case he gave in to temptation. Before he caved for a drink.

Anyway, so he was barricaded in the upstairs bathroom at the Holt house. Which was fun. He guessed.

Still no sign of Keith.

lvrboy: Hey  
lvrboy: ???  
lvrboy: Where are youuuuuu

He waited a minute, and then the ellipses popped up. His heartbeat skittered, just momentarily.

kogane-k: I'm walking there  
kogane-k: I'm like, two blocks away  
kogane-k: I'll be there soon. Promise.  
lvrboy: Ok :(  
lvrboy: I'm in the bathroom upstairs  
lvrboy: Sittin in the tub  
kogane-k: ? Why?  
lvrboy: Cause  
kogane-k: Okay?  
kogane-k: I'll be there soon.  
kogane-k: Promise

Lance smiled and wiped his eyes. He'd left the lights off in the bathroom, and the nightlight plugged into the wall across from the tub cast a dim bluish-gray haze on the walls.

lvrboy: Ok :)

Someone was playing Drake downstairs, and they were screaming with the stereo. Lance half-sang along. "And I know when that hotline bling... that could only mean one thing," he muttered.

kogane-k: K. See you soon.

Lance rest his phone on his lap and waited.

"You don't need no one else, you don't need nobody else..."

Shiro was, like, 90 percent certain he'd already spoken to everyone at this party.

And now he was bored.

The lighting in here was a deep, purplish red, and it was really straining his eyes... headache material. The music was deafening, and they were playing Drake. Fucking Drake. Wherever Lance was, he was probably losing his mind right about now. Lance loved Drake.

Shiro, however. He had different opinions.

He was sort of hovering next to Hunk's snack table, staring into space, not really looking at anything in particular... his arm hurt. Phantom pains.

Then someone bumped into him.

"Ow, fuck," Shiro cussed. Not angrily. Just surprised.

"Jesus, sorry," the guy said. His voice was soft; Shiro was surprised he could even hear him over the music...

Shiro looked up.

And holy shit.

The man was tall, and tan-skinned, with messy hair and hipster glasses. He looked smart... and he dressed like a college professor, but in a good way. And Shiro felt like he'd seen him somewhere before.

The man tilted his head to the side. "Hey... I feel like I know you from somewhere. Takashi, right?"

Shiro blinked, then remember that he'd been asked a question. "Oh -- yeah, hi," he said. He held out his left hand to shake. "Just. Call me Shiro."

"Adam," the man said, accepting the handshake. "I think we have a class together. You in uni?"

"Yep," Shiro confirmed. "Yeah, I think I recognize you... nice to have a formal introduction."

Adam smiled. "So? What brings you here?"

"Friends with Matt... how about you? How do you know the host?"

"Internet."

Shiro nodded. "Ah."

Adam looked at him, smiling curiously. He reached into the cooler and pulled out a can of beer. "Want one?"

"Ah, no thanks, I don't drink."

"Ah, okay." Adam cracked open the can and took a long drink. "So, Takashi, what's your story?"

Shiro laughed. "Depends. Which chapter are we starting on?"

Adam knocked his shoulder against Shiro's. "How about let's start with the future. What career path are you planning to take?"

Shiro mulled that over for a moment. The music stopped abruptly, switching from Drake to Lana Del Rey's 'Video Games'. "I'd like to teach kids," he said finally. "Maybe a teacher's assistant? Something that'll help the little guys out a little."

Adam kept smiling at him... something about him was making Shiro's chest go all funny. Made him feel something. Something he hadn't felt when he'd been dating Allura. "Cute," Adam said thoughtfully.

It was dark outside by the time Keith showed up.

It was loud inside the house, and all clouded and hazy... like maybe someone was burning incense. Or smoking pot, Keith thought to himself. (He had no idea what pot smelled like. He wouldn't recognize it.)

Keith had to get upstairs. Lance was waiting for him.

Lance, his boyfriend. His boyfriend that loved him and cared about him and couldn't wait to see him...

Keith would be up in a minute.

But for now, he couldn't stop staring at someone else.

Shiro. Across the room. Talking to some guy, some unfairly handsome guy, with hipster glasses and an outfit like a college professor...

Keith couldn't really tell for sure through the murky red glow, but he was nearly certain Shiro was blushing.

"Good for you," he murmured to himself. He tried to smile, but his eyes hurt and his face felt all gummy. "Good for you."

He found the staircase and stumbled on up.

Someone knocked on the door. Just softly. Lance was surprised he even heard it over the music.

Lance clambered over the side of the tub and fumbled with the lock on the door, yanking it open. "Hi," he said.

Something didn't seem right about Keith. Lance could tell right off the bat.

But he smiled. "Hey, Lance," Keith smiled. (Lance liked Keith's smile. Always made him feel safe. Like he was okay, at least for now.)

"C'mere," Lance said. He took one of Keith's wrists and pulled him inside, swinging the door shut. It was dark in the bathroom, and the door blocked out all the red light from outside as it closed, shifting the glow of Keith's skin from dark pink to dark blue. "Hi," Lance giggled again."

"Hi."

"Wanna hang out in the bathtub?"

Keith looked at him quizzically, then laughed. "I mean, alright," he said. He slipped his wrist out of Lance's grasp to hold his hand instead. Lance felt his face go warm, and he smiled.

Lance led him to the tub, pulling the curtain closed. They settled down next to each other, fingers intertwined.

"I'm glad you came," Lance said softly.

Keith nodded. He looked tired, and maybe like something was up, but happy. "Me too," he whispered.

Lance giggled. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know..."

Lance leaned into Keith's shoulder, and Keith brought a hand to his forehead, brushing Lance's hair back with his knuckles. "I like you," Lance told him. "A lot."

"I know," Keith whispered. He held him, tighter. "I like you, too."

"Why, though?" Lance asked quietly.

Keith stopped playing with his hair and pulled back, staring at him. "What do you mean, 'why'?" He whispered. He almost sounded hurt...

"I mean, why?" Lance said weakly. He sat up. "I just... I don't have anything to offer."

Keith looked at him.

Then he cupped Lance's cheeks. 

"Listen to me," he said, and his voice came out so sternly that Lance had to follow his instructions. "You are probably the most charming, good-looking, amazing guy I've ever met, and I would be an idiot not to like you. You're -- you're funny, you're kind, and -- and you always know when something's up. You're fucking awesome. I like you. A lot. And I don't want you ever doubting that. Alright?"

Lance was quiet.

"Alright," he said finally.

Keith smiled. He pulled Lance in for a kiss on the nose, just gentle, and then put their hands back together, interlocking their fingers. "Can I ask why you like me?" he said.

"Seriously?" Lance asked, almost immediately. Then he laughed. "How could I not?"

Honestly. What a dumb question.

Stupid Keith. Stupid, perfect Keith.

Stupid, perfect Keith laughed. "No, really."

Lance thought for a moment. (He didn't have to think. He just didn't want to freak him out.)

"Well, first of all," Lance said, like he was making a point, "you're, like, really fucking attractive. Before we started dating, you -- you just made me feel things, you know? Things that I had never felt for a guy before. You're tough -- you're like one of those bad boys that all the girls want. But you're not bad, though -- you just act like you are. But you're not. Yeah, I mean, you fight -- but you're so nice, Keith, you're so good to me. And you always smell nice, and you always taste good... and you're really protective of me and Pidge and everybody, but, like, not in a possessive way, in -- in a good way. You're strong, and kind, and just really, really brave. You're... you're so cool, Keith. I wish I were just like you."

They were quiet. They could still hear the music from downstairs, sound slipping through the crack under the door.

Keith looked at him.

Then he kissed him with everything he had.

"Hey, Keith?"

"Yeah?"

"I really like you."

"Heh... I really like you too, Lance."

"Do you maybe... want me to...?"

"... Um. I don't, uh. Uh..."

"It's okay if you don't. I just... I really, really like you, and I want... to do something nice for you."

"Something nice..."

"Yeah. We don't have to, if you don't want to. I get it. I'd understand."

"No, it's just..."

"No, it's okay. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"... Sorry."

Lance smiled. They were tangled up in one another, Keith laying down, propped up against the side of the tub, Lance on top of him, pressed against his chest. It was dark, and the party seemed to have toned down downstairs; Keith wondered if Shiro and the hot guy were still there. 

"It's okay," Lance said again, softly. He pushed himself up over Keith, their noses just barely touching. "Don't worry about it."

He leaned down to kiss him, and this kiss was different.

Longer. Deeper...

Keith liked it.

This wasn't like anything else they'd ever done before. Keith knew that. (And he knew what Lance had been suggesting; he knew what Lance wanted to do for him.) (He just wasn't sure if it was entirely right.)

This kiss wasn't just friendly, wasn't just romantic.

There was something sexual there, and Keith liked it.

A lot.

Lance slid his hands beneath Keith's shirt, warm and calloused against his stomach, and it was too much.

He'd meant to say 'Lance'. He really had.

But that wasn't the name that came out.

It took Lance a moment to realize what had gone wrong... he pulled back. Confused. "What?" he said softly, eyes searching.

Keith felt something crack in his chest, and his stomach wasn't filled with butterflies -- it was full of bees. Buzzing and stinging and fight-or-flight, knee-jerk reactions. "Lance," he said quickly, "I -- I didn't mean -- I wasn't --"

Lance sat back, sliding away and off of Keith. Keith sat up. "You..." Lance said, still more startled than anything. "You were thinking about Shiro?" he asked, hurt. Like he'd been socked in the gut. "You... I was ready to have sex with you, and you... you weren't even thinking about me?"

Keith shook his head, frantically. "No, no, I wasn't -- I didn't mean to say his name, Lance, honest. Please, just --"

Lance was shaking now, violently. "You -- I can't believe this. I can't believe -- you don't even like me, do you?" He said. Spiraling. Keith could see it. "You don't even like me -- you're one of those guys? You just... I can't believe..."

"Baby, it was an accident, I promise I wasn't; I wasn't..."

He had nothing else to say.

He wasn't thinking about Shiro...

Or maybe he was.

"Please," Lance said miserably. Quaking. "Just... just go."

He buried his face in his hands. Keith sat and watched.

He didn't know what to do.

He reached out and put a hand awkwardly on Lance's elbow. 

"Fucking leave!" Lance shouted. He didn't look up. "Just fucking go!"

Keith pulled his hand back like it burned.

It was quiet. Keith hoped no one heard Lance scream.

"... Please," Lance whispered. He was crying; Keith could hear it. "Just leave me alone."

Keith looked at him. 

"... Alright," he murmured.

So he left.

Pidge held Allura's hand.

They were lying on Pidge's bed, in her bedroom that hadn't changed at all since she was seven, spaceship stickers on the walls and all. She'd strung rainbow Christmas lights around her dresser to try and jazz the place up a little, but it didn't really work. (So far, though, Allura hadn't said anything. Which was a lot less embarrassing than if she had.)

They weren't talking. They didn't need to.

Pidge liked Allura. A lot.

There was something about her... a sparkle, a sheen. A glimmer of light. (Maybe it was just highlighter.)

But she was beautiful. That wasn't opinion; it was an inarguable fact.

Between the earbuds they were sharing and the closed bedroom door, they couldn't hear anybody else. It was like there was nothing to the universe beyond this room.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Allura rolled over to look at her. Her eyes were big and dewy in the dark.

"I'll get it," Pidge said. She carefully took the earbud out -- one of those wireless ones, and it was name-brand, too; lucky Allura -- and handed it back to her. 

"Hey," Hunk said when she opened the door. "You guys busy?"

Pidge shook her head; she heard Allura sit up on the bed behind her. "No, why? Is Matt pole dancing or something?"

Hunk looked serious -- which was how she knew something was seriously wrong. "Can you come to the bathroom, please? It's... it's Lance."

Pidge's tummy dropped. Allura's phone buzzed. "It's Coran," she said. "Here to pick me up... text me, alright? Let me know what's happened?"

Pidge nodded, swallowing. "O-okay," she whispered. 

"Come on," Hunk said. He started walking, quickly, down the hall. Allura stepped out of the room; Pidge moved to let her through the door.

"Goodbye," Allura said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Pidge's head. (Pidge had no time to be flustered.) "Text me," Allura said again.

Pidge nodded.

Lance wasn't sure why he did it.

In hindsight, it was a really bad idea. Now his nicest sweater was all fucked up and stained, and his arms hurt like hell.

(It wasn't even that bad. Wasn't even that deep.) (He was too scared to go any deeper than the surface. Scared of what damage he might cause.)

Someone had left a razor on one of the shelves in the shower...

So. He'd cut himself.

Keith had done it before, right? Maybe it worked for him...

Fuck Keith.

Fuck. Just. Fuck Keith Kogane. (Ha. 'Fuck Keith Kogane'. Half an hour ago, Lance was willing to do just that.)

Fuck Keith. Just fuck him. Fuck everybody, fuck the world.

Pidge and Hunk were there, with him now, and Pidge was yelling at him.

"Why would you do this?" she was shouting, and she was crying, and that made Lance sick all over. "Why? Tell me! Answer me!"

"I dunno," Lance mumbled, honestly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He wasn't crying. He didn't feel like it anymore.

Pidge groaned, once, sharply, and punched the side of the bathtub. "God damn it!"

"Pidge, just stop," Hunk said quietly. He looked at Lance. (He wasn't crying, either. For once.) (There was a wetness to his eyes, though, just not spilling over.) "You're okay, man," he said softly. Lance nodded dumbly. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Lance shook his head. "Not... not right now."

Pidge swiped at her eyes beneath her glasses. 

Lance went on. "Just... not doing so good, I guess."

"I know," Hunk whispered. "Listen..."

He crawled over the side of the tub and squeezed in next to Lance, scooping him up in his big arms. "Listen..." he said again.

He didn't say anything else.

Pidge climbed in, too, and squished her little body between Lance and the wall. She rest her forehead against his chest and sighed, shaking. "I'm really scared," she whispered.

Lance wrapped his arms around her, wincing as the soaked, sticky fabric of his sweater stuck to her t-shirt. "I really love you guys," he whispered. "I just... I can't anymore."

"I know," Hunk said. "I know."

"I just... everything is happening, and... I can't. I can't do it."

"I know."

"I think I'm..." Lance took in a breath. "I think I'm gonna go soon."

Hunk didn't have a response to that.

Pidge hiccuped. "No," she whined. Like a little kid.

"Let's get some rest, okay?" Hunk whispered. "All of us."

Pidge was still crying, but not as violently as before.

"Goodnight," Hunk told them both. He kissed the top of Lance's head. 

As a friend. 

"We love you, Lance."

"I love you," Lance murmured. "G'night."

"Good night, buddy. I hope you feel better tomorrow. Let's have a good day. Let's have a better day."

Lance didn't fall asleep for another three hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	11. do you wanna get a milkshake after the show?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol abuse, homophobia (?? i guess), suicide attempt
> 
> okay so for whatever reason the formatting has always been rlly weird with this?? so in this chapter a couple character-focus shifts aren't properly spaced out with extra empty lines, if that makes sense?? so when focus shifts from one person to another just pretend there's an extra empty line there in btwn ok thx bye

Allura sat in the passenger seat, watching the dark world on the streets pass by.

The noise from Katie’s house faded away the further they drove, and Allura rest her chin in her hand. There was a nervousness in her stomach, a flutter; something there. Something worrisome.

She just wondered.

She hoped everything was alright. She didn’t know why Hunk had come to collect them, and, in her chest, she didn’t really want to.

She could feel Coran flicking concerned glances at her from the driver’s seat... she pretended not to notice.

Their house materialized down the road, and she watched it.

There was someone standing on the front porch.

Allura sat up straighter, squinting to get a good look in the dark.

Then her eyes widened, and her lungs caught fire.

“Coran,” she said quietly, sweetly, like it was a request, “could — could we drive around for a little while longer? I-I don’t feel like going home yet.”

Coran slowed the car to get a good look at the man on the front step.

His jaw set, face pale; Allura acted like she didn’t notice. 

“Well, of course,” Coran told her.

They backed into the neighbour’s driveway. Allura ducked beneath the dashboard, tucking her head into her lap.

They pulled out and not-quite-sped in the other direction.

Lotor slammed his fist into the wood of the front door.

“Shit,” Acxa cussed. Her shitty car was docked on the curb, a few houses down. She’d seen the whole thing, and, fuck. It was painful.

Before she knew what she was doing, she popped open her door, pulling her coat tight around her, and walked briskly across the road. Lotor refuses to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said pathetically. The wind caught in her hair, and it ruffled around her face and caught in her lip gloss. She tugged it away, all slimy and sticky.

“It’s fine,” Lotor told her, even more pathetically. He stared at his shoes, and they were quiet.

Acxa opened her mouth like she had something to say, then closed it again. She frowned.

“Why have you come here?” Lotor asked weakly. 

“I was worried about you,” Acxa told him. Immediately. Impulsively. 

Lotor didn’t have an answer to that.

Acxa put an arm around him, and he gasped — and that was when she noticed he was crying, and that observation sent icicles through her heart. “I’m always worried about you.”

“Okay, you’re drunk.”

“No, shut up. You’re the best. Do you know how, like, the best you are? You’re a fuckin’ badass, Takashi. I’m being... completely serious.”

“Yeah, no, I’m driving you home. What’s your address?”

Adam smiled from Shiro’s passenger seat. It was late, and they’d spent the rest of party together, talking... 

It had been... kind of nice.

Adam wouldn’t stop smiling. “123 Sesame Street,” he said, giggling.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but he was laughing, too. “No, really,” he said.

Adam turned almost sideways in his seat, just barely visible in the bluish light from the dash. “86 Beckley Road, Apartment 307.”

“An apartment, huh?” Shiro mused, tapping the street address into his GPS. “Now, can you stumble up there by yourself, or will you need my help?”

Adam giggled. Again. “Yes. I’m definitely going to need your... responsible supervision as I try to make it up the stairs.”

“You laugh, but you probably will,” Shiro muttered. There was no one on the road tonight; they were pulling onto the highway by now, and so far they’d only seen maybe three other vehicles on the road.

“Yeah, I will,” Adam confirmed. Shiro could still hear a smile in his voice.

They drove in silence for a little while. Shiro went to turn the radio dial.

“I’m gay,” Adam said suddenly.

It was unexpected, so Shiro laughed. “Are you, now?” he asked, amused, coasting through the shitty local variety of news stations.

“Yeah,” Adam confirmed. He nodded for a little too long, then brought out a follow-up. “What about you?”

Shiro stopped twisting the dial, setting his sights firmly on the road. Adam was staring at him; he could feel it, burning holes in him. “I... don’t know,” he said slowly.

Adam nodded, ingesting that. Then, “Do you... are you seeing anyone right now?”

Shiro shook his head. “Well, I mean, I had a girlfriend a few months ago... we broke up, though. That’s... not a thing that’s happening. Anymore.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Adam said quietly, and he sounded genuine. If not a little slurred.

“No; it’s okay,” Shiro told him. He shook his head. “It was... a mutual split, I guess.”

Adam nodded. They didn’t speak for a moment, and Shiro felt something rise in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. He glanced over at Adam. “I guess... I might be a little gay.”

Adam laughed quietly. “Just a little?”

Shiro laughed with him. Adam’s apartment was a few towns over, in a larger community; there were brighter lights here, interrupting the dark. According to the GPS, they were almost there. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve still got some things to figure out.” He took another nervous glance across the centre console. “Why...” he swallowed. “Why do you ask?”

Adam shrugged. “Well, I think you’re kind of cute,” he said boldly, a little slowly.

Shiro felt himself blushing. “Do you?”

Adam smiled. “Yeah... I do.”

Shiro nodded. His heart rate was speeding now, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from discomfort.

Maybe this was a little exciting.

He pulled into the parking lot outside of the apartment building... it was a nice place. Modern. He turned the ignition off, and the vehicle shut down, the dashboard darkened and headlights flickering off. He turned to Adam again. “So do you need me to walk you upstairs, or...?”

Adam shook his head. “No, I’m... I think I’m okay now. I think I can make it on my own.” He smiled. “Thanks for driving me back.”

“No problem,” Shiro said. 

Then it was quiet again. Adam wasn’t getting out of the car...

Shiro cleared his throat. “Even if you... don’t need me to help you up the stairs,” he said awkwardly, “can I at least walk you to the front door?”

Adam leaned over sleepily, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro took in a breath. “I’d like that,” Adam whispered.

Shiro popped open his door and walked around to the passenger side of the car. He opened Adam’s door for him and helped him out, catching him when he stumbled. 

“You okay?” He whispered. Adam nodded against his chest.

Shiro walked him to the door, stopping to look at him once they’d reached the front curb of the entrance. “So, here we are,” he said, hands in his pockets.

Adam nodded. “Here we are,” he echoed. 

It was colder now, and the wind caused him to sway slightly, like he was close to toppling down.

“Would you... like to come inside?” Adam asked softly.

Shiro looked at him. Adam bit his lip... wondering.

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck with his real hand. “Look,” he said, “I know what you’re asking me.”

Adam looked down. “Yeah, I shouldn’t’ve—“

“No, it’s okay,” Shiro said quickly, “it’s fine; I’m not saying I don’t want to...”

Adam looked back up, meeting his eyes. Still asking, still hoping.

Still incredibly cute.

“It’s just,” Shiro said, nearly whispering now, “you’re drunk, and... I’d feel as though I were taking advantage of you.”

Adam blushed. “Right,” he nodded.

“But I do like you,” Shiro told him honestly. “I would love to spend more time with you.”

Adam tilted his head to the side, with just the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Would you?”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah... I would.”

He held his arms open. “How about, for now, we... settle with this?”

Adam looked at him.

Then he hugged him, hard.

“Have a good night, Takashi.” He said against him, quietly. Happily.

“You too,” Shiro said back. “Get some rest. And... you have my number. Call me tomorrow, okay? We can set something up.”

Adam laughed. “Okay,” he said. He pulled back, smiled, and stepped away. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Shiro said. Adam just kept on smiling.

Once he was inside, Adam turned around and waved through the glass of the dual front doors. Shiro waved back, still standing on the curb.

He stood there for another few minutes, rocking back and forth on his heels, then got in his car and drove away with giddy butterflies swarming through his torso.

Keith ran home that night.

He made it out of the Holt house alright. No scene required. Like he was doing fine.

He was absolutely, totally, completely not fine.

When he got outside, Shiro was helping the hot guy into his car on the curb across the street... he looked up when he heard the front door click shut. “You alright, Keith?” he called across the road.

Keith shook his head.

Then he ran.

He ran as fast as he fucking could. Like he was running a marathon, gaining a lead. Like his life depended on it.

He wasn’t crying. Not yet. Soon. He felt the heat in his lungs, the smoke behind his eyes. The dampness.

He slammed his front door closed; his mom wasn’t home. The dog padded happily towards him, wagging her tail excitedly.

Keith rushed past her and into his bedroom, the walls rattling from the force of the door swinging shut behind him. He leaned against it and collapsed to the floor, wrestling his phone from his back pocket.

His hands were shaking, and he could barely type.

kogane-k: Lance?  
kogane-k: Lance I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say that.

The dog whined from the hall and scratched at the wood of the door. Keith let out a sharp, shaky breath.

kogane-k: Lance?  
kogane-k: Lance  
kogane-k: Lance?  
kogane-k: Lance?

Keith hiccuped, and he wasn’t crying — he was full-on sobbing.

kogane-k: Lance?  
kogane-k: Lance?

kogane-k: I’m so sorry

He whipped his phone pathetically across the room, and it hit the wall, hard. He heard the screen splinter -- saw the cobwebs of cracks etch across the surface -- but he didn't care.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Keith buried his head in his folded arms and whined like a puppy. Like something injured.

Lance... just. Fuck.

Keith couldn't believe he'd done this. 

Why the fuck was it Shiro's name that came out?

He wasn't even thinking about him... really, he wasn't.

He'd just made a mistake. That was all it was. (Although it was the greatest fucking mistake to ever occur, of all time. A mistake of, like, Chernobyl proportions.)

Jesus Christ.

It was late, and he was tired, and he was overly emotional, and he was almost certain he'd just completely fucked over what was left of his pathetic life.

He was shaking all over, like he'd never stop.

Lance woke up the next morning, and his arms didn't hurt that bad anymore.

But fucking hell, his back was sore.

Jesus. Was he still in the bathtub?

He sat up, slowly, squeezing his eyes shut to garner any remainder of strength within him, then forced his eyes open.

The late-morning light was citrus through the window, and Pidge was sitting with her legs crossed on the bathmat, watching him with her chin in her hands. "Hey," she said softly.

Lance looked away. "Hey, Pidge."

"How..." Pidge cleared her throat. "How are you feeling?"

Lance laughed sadly. "Honestly?..."

He didn't give her an answer. He was pretty sure she got the message.

"What happened, man?" Pidge whispered. She was still looking at him, with those huge, Bambi-brown eyes...

Lance shook his head. "It's... not that big of a deal. I'm okay."

He tried to smile at her. She didn't smile back.

"You know we love you, right?" Pidge murmured. Her hair was a mess, and she was still in her clothes from the night before. "You know that I love you?"

Lance's smile quivered a little bit, just at the edges. "Yeah. I know."

Pidge smiled at him then, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Hunk's making pancakes..." she offered. "Do you wanna come down and have some?"

Lance felt a guilty pang in his stomach.

He hated this.

But he had to say no. He had to.

He shook his head. "No, I... I think I'm gonna head home. Tell him thanks, though."

Pidge frowned, scrunching her mouth to the side. "You should really eat something..."

Lance shook his head again, still smiling. He didn't look at her... his eyes were wet, and he was scared she might see. "I'm... I'm okay." He nodded. "Thank you guys, for... hanging out with me last night."

Pidge laughed quietly, mouth closed. "No problem."

She stood up, and Lance was once again reminded of how tiny she was. Such great strength in such a tiny package. "I love you," she said again, rubbing at her eyes under her glasses.

"I love you, too."

She stood there for a moment, then left. She closed the door behind her, leaving Lance all by himself.

And for once, he liked it that way.

He decided to check his phone... just for shits and giggles.

"Jesus."

*You have nine unread messages from kogane-k

Lance's thumb hovered over the notification, uncertain.

Then he took a different route.

*Block this user  
*Are you sure?  
*Yes

Another two weeks went by.

Keith saw Lance at school, in the halls...

But, in a way, he didn't really see him at all.

There was nothing left in Lance's eyes. Barely any blue remaining. Just a dry, cold grey.

Every time Keith tried to make eye contact with him in passing, Lance would look straight ahead. Right through him.

It dug a pit in Keith's stomach every damn time. And the more it happened, the more it hurt.

Just yesterday, they caught each other in the bathroom.

Keith didn't even really need to be in there -- he just needed a minute away from class. (Or two. Or three. Or an hour.)

One of the stalls was locked... Keith didn't pay it any attention.

Until he heard the vomiting.

At first, he didn't know who it was.

Keith was standing in the corner, leaning against the wall and pretending to read something on his phone, and he jumped at the noise. "Jesus," he cussed. He put his phone down on the sink counter. He felt like he should probably say something... "Uh. You alright?" 

Then it was quiet.

Then, quietly, from inside the stall: "Oh, motherfuck."

The toilet flushed, and the lock turned. Lance stepped out, not looking at him.

Keith felt his heart thud wildly against his ribs. "Hey," he said, trying not to stutter, "are you -- are you okay?"

Lance held his hands steady under the motion sensor, and the sink hummed, cold water pooling into his cupped palms. "Yeah, I'm great," he muttered. "Never better, Keith. How are you?"

Keith just looked at him, more confused than anything. "I-I'm... fine," he said slowly.

"Oh, yeah?" Lance brought the water to his mouth and spit it back out into the sink. He wiped his hands on his jeans and locked eyes with Keith... Keith couldn't read his expression at all. There was nothing inside of him anymore. "And how's Shiro?"

Keith went cold all over, and his fingertips were ice. "Lance," he said softly, "I-I didn't mean -- I'm -- we're not --"

Lance shook his head. "Yeah, whatever," he said, mostly to himself.

He turned to leave, to walk away...

"Wait," Keith blurted.

Lance stopped. He turned around, slowly, like he didn't really want to. 

Keith squared his jaw. "I'm sorry," he whispered. (And he was going to cry again. Jesus Christ. He could feel the prickle behind his eyes, and the sunburned feeling on his cheeks.) "Lance, you -- you have no idea how sorry I am."

"No, I think I do," Lance shrugged. He put his hands on his hips, licked his bottom lip -- which was chapped as hell -- and nodded. "Yeah, I think I know exactly how sorry you are. Trust me, though; you're nowhere near as sorry as I am."

Keith stopped breathing, just for a second. "Why are you sorry?" he asked. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Lance laughed, but nothing was funny. "I know," He said simply. "I'm not sorry at all." 

Then he left.

And Keith slammed his fist against the wall.

So, Keith's life went back to normal.

Not the good normal -- not the normal where he had a boyfriend and a friend group and a reason to live.

No. Keith went back to the old normal. The normal with the fights and the Alley and the tied-down balloon, tied-up dog feeling in his stomach.

He'd abandoned his old schedule, though. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays -- that was over. He fought in the Alley every day now, after school. Just so that he could breathe. Just so that he didn't drown.

Today was Thursday, and it was mid-November, and it was cold outside.

Keith was wearing his red flannel sweater...

Lance used to like to borrow that sweater and wear it whenever he was sad. 

That sweater used to smell like Lance.

It hadn't for weeks.

It was cold, and there were no clouds in the sky. The sun was setting earlier than usual -- it was only three-fifty, but the sky was drenched in oranges and reds and deep-bright blues.

Keith rounded the corner and threw his bag on the ground.

Then his heart stopped.

"Let's get this over with," Lance said tiredly from a few metres down the Alley. There were deep purple shadows under his eyes, and he wasn't wearing a coat...

Keith was mostly just surprised to see him there. (The shock of seeing something in a place you'd never expect to see it.)

"Lance," he got out, "I--"

Lance shook his hands out in front of him. "No, you know what? Just spare it, alright? I don't want your excuses anymore. Let's just get this done, and never speak to each other again."

Keith shook his head. He wasn't angry... he couldn't be angry. Not at Lance. "No," he said.

"No, really, come on," Lance laughed -- and that was when Keith noticed him swaying.

"Are you -- are you drunk?" Keith whisper-shouted. Lance giggled meanly.

"Not at all," Lance sang, dragging out the Ls. He took a few steps forward, and Keith recoiled. "C'mon, throw a punch. Let's go! Let's get 'er done!"

Keith shook his head again, frantically. "No," he said, imitating sternness, trying not to whimper. "No, Lance, I -- I'm not fighting you. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Lance laughed, sharply. "Oh, you're not, huh?" He said, loud, like he was mocking him. “You’re not gonna hurt me, huh?” He laughed again, rocking, dangerously, back and forth. “Well, you’re a little bit fucking late for that.”

Then he rolled up his sleeves.

Keith’s heart stopped. “Holy shit...”

Lance’s forearms were lined with dozens of ragged, angry scratches. Fresh ones... bright red and painful.

“Look,” Lance said giddily. “This is your fault. This is all your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith choked, without even thinking. He was crying now; torrential downpours. “Oh my fucking god, Lance, I’m — I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry, huh? What are you sorry for? Huh?” Lance shouted. Every trace of drunken happiness drained out of him, his stance jarring in comparison to what it was two seconds ago. “You know, you should’ve been grateful to have me. You can’t just pick and choose guys out here, Keith — fuck! I liked you! I wanted to be friends with you, I wanted to be your boyfriend! You’re never gonna get that chance with anyone out here ever again, because we all hate people like you! I was the only option you had, and you threw me away because, what, I’m not hot enough for you? Smart enough for you? Huh? Spit it out! Why are you sorry?”

Lance was screaming now; Keith prayed nobody heard him.

“Please stop,” Keith sobbed, “please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He was chanting now, shaking his head rapidly. Lance was walking, zigzagged, towards him.

“And you know what?” Lance went on, “I have a crush on Allura, okay? But I wasn’t thinking about her! Because you know why? I liked you! I was in love with you! I was willing to have sex with you — I’m a virgin, by the fucking way; I was gonna give you my virginity — and you were thinking about someone else! You weren’t even thinking about me!”

“I’m so sorry,” Keith recited, weak in the knees. His voice was getting consistently louder and louder, higher and higher, trying to shout over Lance’s pain. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

Lance stopped abruptly, barely two feet away. He stared right through Keith, hands balled into fists at his sides. “You know, you were the very first guy  
I ever liked,” he said, voice wavering. “Clearly that was a fucking mistake. Thanks for wasting my time, Keith.”

Up close, Keith could see Lance’s bones sharp through his wrists. He still had his sweater sleeves rolled up, and Keith couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mess he’d made.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith whispered again. He couldn’t stop crying — he wasn’t sure he ever would. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hey!” somebody shouted. Lance looked past Keith’s shoulder, and his face fell. He tugged his sleeves back down hastily. Keith wiped at his eyes with his arm and turned around.

“Pidge?”

Pidge jogged up to them then, switchblade in hand. “Are you guys fighting?” she panted, concerned. She lowered her knife to her side, careful not to point it at anyone. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Keith said quickly. Lance kicked his feet around. 

“Are you okay? I heard shouting...”

“We’re fine,” Lance told her. He blinked, and his left eye took longer to reopen than his right.

Pidge squinted up at him. (Way up. Lance was above average height, and Pidge was roughly the size of a sixth grader.) “Are you drunk?” she asked, exasperated.

Lance shook his head. “No...”

Keith frowned.

Pidge shook her head. “Anyway,” she said, flicking her blade closed and pushing up her glasses, “Hunk, Shay, Matt and I are going to the movies, and neither of you were answering our texts, so...”

Lance sighed. “I gotta go home. Bye, Pidge.” 

He sounded so tired.

Keith noticed Lance made a point not to say goodbye to him. (Keith didn’t blame him.)

They watched him go, kicking rocks and tripping over his own feet as he went.

Pidge looked up at Keith with wide eyes. “Is... is it just me, or was he wasted?”

Keith set his jaw. “He was wasted.”

“...Are you gonna go with him?”

Keith looked at her.

“...No,” he decided. 

“Keith...?”

Keith shook his head. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

It was just starting to rain, out of nowhere, when they got to the movie theatre.

Hunk was there, waiting outside beneath the NOW PLAYING sign. "Hey," he said when they walked up. "Where's Lance? I thought you were gonna bring him with you?"

Pidge looked up at Keith, biting her bottom lip. "Yeah, I... I think Lance is gonna sit this one out," she said, some vague essence of guilt tinging her tone.

Hunk frowned. "Man. Lance hasn't been hanging out with us much lately, huh?"

Keith crossed his arms and stared at the sidewalk.

"I really hope he's feeling better," Hunk went on, quietly, "I mean, at least a little."

"Better than what?" Keith asked, looking up.

Hunk's face softened, like he was about to stick a needle in him. "Oh, um... at the party a few weeks ago, he seemed... really, really upset. And he wouldn't tell us what was going on... I mean, I don't know about you guys, but. I mean, he hasn't told me anything."

Keith felt a cold web string its way through his chest. 

Fuck... as if he needed to feel any worse. (He had the feeling he was gonna be catching shit for this for the rest of his stupid life.)

Pidge slipped her hand into Keith's, and Keith looked at her. She leaned into him for a moment, a quick reassurance, then let go and braved a quivering smile.

"Anyway," she said, half-brightly, "we came here to have fun! Let's go inside."

Hunk and Keith made eye contact, and Keith tried to give him a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out like a lopsided grimace. Hunk winced, then gave a pathetic smile back.

"Yeah," Keith said. "Let's go."

So it was Pidge's job to get the butter for the popcorn.

Which was also probably the shittiest assignment they could've given her, considering the place was packed and she was but a tiny creature. (Seriously. She was the same size now as she was when she was nine. You would think that cutting through crowds would be her specialty, given her teeny-weeny stature, but it pretty much made it at least 70 percent easier to shove her around and stomp all over her toes. She was this close to using the overfilled popcorn bags as battering rams just to get to the goddamn flavour station.)

So anyway, she was getting the butter for the popcorn -- three whole bags of it; she was really getting a workout today -- when she jabbed her elbow into somebody. "Shit, sorry," she mumbled, then: "Oh, Shiro!"

Shiro smiled down at her. "Hey, Pidge, it's nice to see you here! How are you today?"

Pidge stopped what she was doing to give him a hug, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. He made a noise in surprise, then pat her head awkwardly. "You... okay?" he asked, slowly.

Pidge nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," she admitted, pulling back. "How are you doing? What movie are you seeing today?"

"Actually, we haven't decided that yet," another man said from behind him. He slipped his arm around Shiro's waist, and Shiro stiffened. "I was thinking I'd let Takashi decide, as thanks for driving me home safe at your brother's party."

Pidge squinted up at the man. "Oh, yeah, I think I recognize you," she said. "Adam, right? I'm Katie. Call me Pidge."

Adam smiled and reached out to take her hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Pidge," he said. Shiro took the opportunity to take a half-step away from him; it seemed as though Adam didn't notice.

"Uh -- tell you what," Shiro cut it, "we'll just... go see whatever you guys are seeing. With you. We're just gonna go to the bathroom," he said, raising his eyebrows at Adam expectantly.

Adam looked back at him, confused. "Uh. Okay, then." He smiled at Pidge again, and Pidge grinned back. "I... guess we'll see you in the theatre, Pidge."

"Okay. See ya!" she called, waving them off. She shook her head and frowned to herself, turning back to the butter station.

Well. That was something.

"Pidge!" someone else -- Matt -- called from across the floor. Pidge looked up --

And her frown broke into an all-out beam.

Allura was here.

And she looked amazing.

"Okay. What's up?"

Shiro was pacing back and forth in the men's bathroom, hands in his coat pockets. Adam was leaning up against the wall nonchalantly -- and very carelessly, Shiro thought, like he didn't care at all.

Shiro sighed and stopped pacing. "Look, Adam, you can't--" he started, then realized how loud he was speaking and lowered his voice. "No one else knows," he said softly.

Adam looked at him, taking a drink from his coffee cup. "Knows what?"

"That I'm--" Shiro tried, "That we-- you know..."

Adam looked at him for another moment, searching. Then it clicked, and he laughed. "Oh. Takashi, hey..."

"I know what you're gonna say," Shiro said. He ran his real hand through his hair. 

Adam smiled at him, like he was trying not to laugh at him again. "What am I gonna say?"

Shiro sighed. Again. "You're gonna say that I'm a grown man, that we're both adults here, and that we shouldn't feel the need to hide our... relationship." He frowned, more at himself than anything. "You're gonna say that I need to get over myself and just -- be open about this; that I need to just accept who I am and be... I dunno. Proud, or whatever."

Adam nodded. "That is... actually not what I was gonna say at all."

Shiro looked at him. "It wasn't?"

Adam laughed. "No. It wasn't."

He put his half-empty cup down on the sink counter and stepped towards him, taking both his hands. "Look," Adam said quietly. "I know that you're still not sure. And, Takashi, I'm trying to understand that -- but it's just that it's been so long since I first started... questioning myself." He said the words 'questioning myself' slowly, like it had been so long he'd forgotten how to pronounce them. "But if you want to keep it low -- we can keep it low. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. Okay?"

Shiro couldn't help himself.

He smiled, and god fucking damn it, he was in love. "Okay," he agreed.

Adam leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, then let go of his hands. "Now, c'mon. Let's go act like straight dudes."

Whatever almighty powers that may be overseeing all this bullshit, they really, really had it in for Keith today.

He was conveniently seated right next to Shiro, on his right -- and on the other side, Allura, who, apparently, Lance had a thing for. Je. Sus.

This was such a shitty day. (Scratch that, shitty week.) (Or a shitty month.) (Fuck it. Shitty existence.)

Just before the lights dimmed, Shiro leaned over to him and said, quietly enough that no one else would hear, "How's things between you and Lance? I don't see him here today."

Keith just shook his head, and he pretended he didn't see Shiro's face fall.

"...I'm sorry," Shiro said after a moment, just murmuring. Keith nodded.

His chest hurt. Everything hurt.

And everything was ruined. All because of one stupid mistake on one stupid night at one stupid party.

He hated himself for it.

Then, twenty minutes into the film, he just... left.

He pretended like he was just going to the bathroom... he had to clamber over four sets of legs to get out. (Sorry, Allura, Pidge, Shay, and Hunk -- he wasn't lumbering over Shiro's lap for anything.) 

Then, once he got outside, he ran.

He ran faster than he ever had before, cold November wind and icy rain biting his cheeks. He ran like he was trying to escape. Trying to set his soul free from his body, leave his skin behind.

Lance's voice kept replaying in his mind.

'You're not gonna hurt me, huh? Well, you're a bit too fucking late for that.'

Keith realized he wasn't breathing. He held what little air he had left in him still, halted, in his lungs.

'I liked you! I was in love with you!'

It was so cold. Jesus Christ, it was so fucking cold.

'You're never gonna get that chance with anyone out here ever again, because we all hate people like you!'

Keith tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, and one of his sneakers fell off. He got back up and kept running. Just left his shoe on the side of the road.

He just didn't care anymore.

'Thanks for wasting my time.'

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Yeah, hi, it's my brother, he's -- he's unconscious."

"Alright, ma'am, can you lead me up to this event? Did you witness your brother faint, was he knocked unconscious?"

"I-I don't know. I didn't see -- I wasn't here."

"Ma'am, what's your name?"

"Veronica."

"Alright, Veronica -- where did you find your brother unconscious?"

"In the bathroom. In our basement -- he's just lying on the floor."

"Is he at all responsive?"

"N... no, he's not. He smells like alcohol, ma'am, I think he's been drinking..."

"What's your brother's name, Veronica?"

"Lance, it's Lance."

"Okay, now, does Lance have a history of excessive alcohol or substance use?"

"I've seem him drunk before, but never, never to this point... oh, god."

"What's wrong? Has something happened, do you notice anything?"

"His arm... he's -- he's covered in cuts, ma'am. Oh, my god."

"Okay, we've tracked your address, Veronica, we've got paramedics on the way. How old is Lance?"

"He's seventeen..."

"...Okay. Does he abuse any other drugs? Illegal or prescription?"

"He takes Adderall; I don't know if he... oh, fuck, hang on."

"Veronica, stay on the phone."

"... Jesus Christ. His pill bottle is empty -- it was half full just two days ago. Oh, my god."

"...Okay, Veronica, I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to listen. Make sure Lance is turned on his side. Can you turn him on his side for me?"

"Yes, he -- he is."

"Help is on the way... has Lance ever mentioned any suicidal thoughts to you, or to anyone before?"

"No, he's never... but I think he has an eating disorder, he -- he hasn't been eating."

"Okay. Okay. Do you know of anything that may have triggered this? Any recent events or arguments or..."

"Yes, I -- I think he's fighting with a friend -- his best friend. I don't know, I think maybe his friend -- might not be just his friend; I... I don't know... I don't know anything."

"Okay, Veronica. Thank you so much. I need you to stay strong for me, and for Lance, and I need you to stay on the phone. Can you do that?"

"... Yes. I can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	12. there's parts of you already gone

They were in Shiro's car; all of them.

Minus Keith. And Matt; he had to get to work. 

And, obviously, minus Lance.

Pidge was crying quietly, tucked in against Allura's chest. There weren't enough seats in the back to carry all of them safely; Pidge was sitting sideways in Allura's lap, her legs stretched straight out across Hunk and Shay. Allura stared at her shoes, holding Pidge's hand so tightly the skin on her knuckles went taught. Her eyes were cloudy and dark, storming softly.

This was so unsafe.

But this was an emergency.

"It's okay," Hunk kept saying. He had an arm wrapped tight around Shay's shoulders, and she was leaning into him, trembling, and he was rubbing her arm up and down, up and down. "It's okay."

It was dark out, and it had gotten a lot colder, but it wasn't snowing. Freezing rain. Of course it had to shower ice tonight, of all nights.

Shiro missed the call.

Veronica had called him during the movie, but his phone was on silent. (He hadn't expected this.) (Nobody did.) (Although, maybe they should've.)

He'd called her back as he and Adam left the theatre, walking towards his car...

And then he'd shouted for everyone to get in.

"What's wrong?" Pidge had shouted back. "What's going on?"

"It's Lance," he said. His voice cracked, and he felt like he was around twelve again, absolutely terrified. "He's in the hospital."

And then everyone understood. Collectively. Immediately.

He pulled up to the entrance of the ER. "Everyone go," he said. "I'll park. Head inside. Go, go, go."

The kids in the back filed out, stumbling over one another onto the cold, wet curb. Pidge held Allura's arm to keep them both steady.

Shiro carefully maneuvered the vehicle into a parking space and turned off the ignition.

It was quiet for a moment. He closed his eyes and rest his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Takashi," Adam said softly from the passenger seat. Shiro could feel his eyes boring holes in him.

"Yes?" Shiro whispered, head hung low. He had a headache, and his stomach felt tight.

"I... I care about you, okay? Thought it might be a good time to tell you that."

Shiro slowly picked his head up from the wheel. He felt heavy there, like his neck could barely support it's weight.

He turned in his seat so that he could wrap his arms around Adam's waist. He let his head fall, again, on Adam's shoulder. His prosthetic was digging into his skin, and everything hurt, so, so much.

Adam let him cry there for a few minutes, keeping quiet.

Then they went inside.

Keith lay on the floor in his room.

He was tired -- exhausted -- but he couldn't bring himself to go to bed and sleep. He wanted to wallow in this for a little while longer.

He checked his phone...

He had a text from Hunk.

hgarret: Hey  
hgarret: You ok?

Keith frowned. 

What?

kogane-k: What  
kogane-k: Yeah, I'm fine  
kogane-k: Why do you ask

Keith watched the ellipses bubble up for a moment.

Then.

hgarret: You didn't hear?  
hgarret: Well, I don't know how to tell you this  
hgarret: But  
kogane-k: But??

Keith's stomach flickered alive, nervousness starting to pick away at his guts. His hand shook, and his phone screen blurred.

hgarret: Lance is in the hospital.

Fuck.

Keith shot straight up, holding the phone as far away from his face as possible, like it might burn him or bite him or strangle him, any of the above. (It practically already had; his chest was on fire and he could barely breathe.)

kogane-k: What  
kogane-k: Hunk what are you talking about  
kogane-k: Hunk ???????

He kept firing off panicked messages, one after the other, even as Hunk kept typing on the other end.

hgarret: Veronica said he overdosed. Mixed it with alcohol, too  
hgarret: I don't really know what happened  
hgarret: I mean, I knew he was depressed  
hgarret: But I never thought he'd take it this far.  
kogane-k: It's my fault  
kogane-k: This is my fault i shouldve stopped it  
kogane-k: I made him kill himse lf  
hgarret: No, no, you didn't  
hgarret: He's alive, he's okay  
hgarret: It's not your fault  
hgarret: I knew about it. I knew he cut himself  
hgarret: I knew he threw up alot  
hgarret: But I didn't do anything  
hgarret: It's not your fault, Keith. It's mine  
kogane-k: No Im the reason  
kogane-k: It's my fault it's b ecause I

Keith was crying harder than he'd ever cried. Which was a pretty impressive feat, the last few weeks' events considered.

He was choking, gasping for air, and these huge drops of water were spilling from his eyes and into his mouth. 

kogane-k: I didn't love him enough  
kogane-k: I mean i love him more than anything but i just didnt show it  
kogane-k: It's all my fault he's gonna die  
hgarret: What are you talking about?  
hgarret: We all love him  
hgarret: He's not gonna die, Keith  
hgarret: I promise.  
hgarret: What did you mean you didn't love him enough?

Keith sobbed, hiccuping.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

All his fault. Everything. Always.

kogane-k: I'm sorry  
kogane-k: I'm sorry  
hgarret: Keith?  
hgarret: It's ok  
hgarret: I gotta go.  
kogane-k: Tell him I love him  
kogane-k: Please?  
kogane-k: Please?  
kogane-k: Please?  
kogane-k: I'm sorry

Crying so hard his shoulders were actually heaving. Crying so hard he couldn't breathe, couldn't type. 

He swiped over to his messages with Lance...

"Fuck!"

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Keith brought a hand to his mouth to stifle the god-awful sounds he couldn't keep inside of him. "F... fuck," he whined, crying like a child. "Fuck... I... I can't..."

He forced himself to stand up and drag his feet over to his bed. He crawled in and pulled the covers over him, trying to will himself to sleep.

He pressed his palm, tight, over his mouth.

This was all his fault.

Lance had tried to kill himself. Because of Keith. Because Keith whispered the wrong name in a dark bathroom at a loud party.

All his fault. All his fucking, fucking, fucking fault.

Acxa left because of him. The locker room was uncomfortable because of him. His mom was poor because of him. Lance overdosed because of him.

All his fault.

They wouldn’t let them in to see Lance yet.

Only family, they said. Veronica was already there; she'd taken the ambulance with him. Shiro tried to reason with the doctors, said they were his best friends -- but they still weren't allowed to go in his room. Pidge was ready to camp out all night in the waiting room, but the staff kicked them all out at eleven.

Pidge's phone was blowing up -- five missed calls from her mom, two from Matt, and three from her dad. She should probably be worried about that, feel a little guilty about it...

But right now, she didn't really care.

She couldn't find it inside herself to care about anything at the moment.

They were back in Shiro's car, and it was late -- about eleven-thirty at this point. He was driving slowly, cautiously, through the icy dark.

He was holding hands with Adam between the centre console. Everyone else pretended not to notice.

Pidge felt it rising in her chest again... the cold, wet dread of the evening finally catching all the way up to her.

She choked, mouth full of spit like she might be sick, and let her head fall, heavy, against Allura's chest.

She didn't want to have to feel like this. She didn't want this, at all.

She wished she'd done something sooner.

It was late, midnight, by the time their mother showed up.

She was running through the automatic doors, gripping her unzipped coat tight around her, purse strap around her elbow and swinging wildly. Veronica was standing against the wall, leaning there, and she pushed off as soon as she saw her, jogging to her mother with her arms wide open.

They collided together, and her mom was crying, hard. "Oh, Veronica," she kept saying, sobbing, over and over, "oh, Veronica, Veronica, Veronica."

Veronica rubbed a shaky hand against her mother's back, up and down. "It's okay, mamá, it's okay. I'm okay. Lance is okay. He's okay."

"My baby," her mother howled, gripping her fingers tight in the fabric of Veronica's jacket. "I can't believe -- I didn't know that my baby felt this way. I didn't know... I let him down. I let him down."

"No, no, mom, you didn't," Veronica whispered quickly, reassuring her. "No, mom, you didn't. At all. This isn't your fault... it's not your fault. He's okay. He's gonna be okay."

There was another woman in the sitting room staring at them over Veronica's mom's shoulder. Veronica shot her a dirty look, and the woman shook her head and picked up a magazine.

They held each other like that for at least ten minutes, then her mother sighed and slowly, carefully, pulled away. She wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. "Oh," she said, mostly to herself, laughing in the saddest voice Veronica had ever heard, "this is the worst day of my life."

"I love you," Veronica said, instantly. It was the only thing she could think of -- it was the only constant. The only residual normalcy this moment carried. The only thing she still felt, even before this unbelievably shitty happenstance.

Her mother laughed again, shaking her head. She wasn't crying anymore, but there was still a morning (mourning? Now, maybe) dew caught on her eyelashes. "Oh, Ronnie, I love you, too."

A nurse walked up to them, then, holding a clipboard. "Hi," he said softly. "Are you here for Lance McClain?"

Veronica's mother put on a solid, strong face, and nodded. "Yes, that's me. I'm Sandra McClain -- I'm his mother."

The nurse nodded. "Your son is stable," he told her, "he's had his stomach pumped, and he's just resting now. He's asleep," he clarified, "but you can still go in to see him if you'd like."

Veronica watched her mother. Her mom set her jaw, a hand on the handle of her purse, knuckles bone-white from the strength of her grip. She nodded. "Yes. I-I'd like to see my son."

The nurse tried to smile, to soothe her -- to soothe them all -- but it came out strained. "Alright, then," he said, hugging his little clipboard to his chest with one arm and gesturing to follow him with the other. "Come on with me."

The hallways were bright white and eerily quiet -- no one was visiting this late at night. That realization got Veronica thinking... "Hey, um," she said to the nurse, "are we even allowed to be visiting this late at night?"

The nurse blushed. "Well, no," he admitted. "I could actually get in trouble for letting you guys in to see him, so don't, uh. Don't tell anyone I let you in. But," he went on, lowering her voice, "I thought this was a... special occasion."

Veronica tried to keep herself from scoffing -- this was absolutely not a special occasion, by any means -- but her mother smiled. "Well, thank you, dear," her mom said, putting a hand on the nurse's shoulder.

The nurse smiled back, but wouldn't look at her. He pushed through a set of double doors labeled 'Pediatric Care'. "Lance is still only seventeen," he told them, "so even though it was technically a mental health case, they stuck him in the youth wing. He was in the ICU for a few hours, then once the procedure was finished, they gave him a bed in here. He'll have to stay for a few days, but. I think it's a pretty good place for him, at least for now."

He brought them to a stop in front of a closed curtain patterned with fish and sailboats. Veronica squeezed her mother's hand. "Here he is," the nurse said softly.

"Thank you very much," Veronica's mom told him, smiling brightly -- but not brightly enough for it to reach her eyes. The nurse hovered there for a moment -- made eye contact with Veronica, who stood up a little straighter, eyes narrowed -- then nodded again and walked, quietly, away.

Her mom let out a long, trembling breath. "You okay?" Veronica asked. 

Her mom was quiet for about thirty seconds. "Yes," she concluded.

Veronica nodded. "Okay."

She moved slowly, uncertainly, to peel back the curtain, just a crack.

If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought he was dead.

Lance was paler than she'd ever seen him, and his chest was barely shifting as he slept. He was covered beneath this heavy, fluffy dark blue blanket that was splattered with huge white stars -- probably one of those complimentary ones they give to kids when they have to stay overnight.

He looked peaceful there, and it broke Veronica's heart.

Maybe he really did want to die, Veronica thought. (She didn't want to think about that possibility, but once it dawned on her, it wouldn't go away.) At first she had tried to convince herself he hadn't meant to kill himself, that maybe it was just a mistake -- that maybe he'd just drank a little too much, taken a few too many meds...

But she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

Her little brother was dead asleep in a hospital bed, out cold, because he'd tried to kill himself. Because he wanted to die.

Her heart was broken. Shattered.

Her mother made a strangled little noise and stumbled into the room, making a beeline for Lance's hand. She took it and sat down in the rickety little chair set up next to the bed, pressing his fingers to her cheek and crying softly. "Oh, my baby," she whispered, "my son. My little baby..."

She was brushing his hair back from his forehead with her other hand, and Veronica saw his eyelids flutter. 

"Mom," she said.

Her mom glanced up at her, eyes full of tears. Veronica motioned for her to look at Lance... he was stirring now, just a little.

Her mother gasped. "Lancey, sweetheart, are you waking up? Can you hear me, sweetie?"

Lance made a little noise, squeezing his eyes shut. He slowly forced his eyelids open, squinting up at his mother... "Mom?" he asked weakly.

"Oh, my god!" their mother cried happily, laughing through her tears. She leaned down to shower kisses all over Lance's face, and Lance drew his shoulders up like it tickled. "Oh, my sweet baby... my angel, how are you? Oh, my god!"

"Mom," Lance said again, tiredly. She wrapped her arms around him, laughing and crying and just overall overflowing, and he leaned against her chest, eyes open, unblinking, and glazed over in sickness. He was smiling, but you could only notice it if a smile was what you were looking for. (And if you were stretching. Really stretching.) "Hey... hey, V."

Veronica felt herself smiling back, breaking into a grin despite her will. "Hey," she whispered, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "Hey, Lance, how are you feeling?"

Lance looked down, and the hint of a smile disappeared. He tucked himself tighter against his mother's chest, and she rhythmically drew her palm up and down against his back, trying to soothe him as best she could. "I'm... I'm okay," he told them. "I'm okay."

He was lying. Veronica could always tell when he was lying, always, and that was bullshit if she'd ever heard it.

"Sweet angel," their mom kept chanting, like she was praying, "oh, my sweet boy. I'm so glad you're okay. Thank God you're safe. Mamá couldn't live without her boy. Not without her baby."

"V?" Lance said softly, looking up at her, almost drunkenly -- actually, yes, drunkenly; he was probably still really out of it, he was lucky to have survived that much alcohol intake. 

"Yeah, sweetie?" Veronica whispered back. (She'd never called him that before. She figured now might be a good time for nicknames.) (He always called her V, whenever they had their big sister-little brother bonding moments; she wished now she had come up with a dumb little name for him, something a little more personal, just for the two of them.)

"Can..." Lance tried, but his voice crackled and died out. He coughed, clearing his throat, and tried to kick back up again. "Can I maybe... hang out with just mom for a second? Just me and her?"

It hurt to hear, honestly. Not a stab to the chest, just a needle.

But Veronica understood.

"Yeah, Lance, of course," she said, like it was nothing he needed to ask for. Like he could have anything he wanted in this moment. He could ask for the sun, and Veronica would rip it from the sky for him with her bare fucking hands. "Yeah, of course."

She wasn't sure when she'd walked over to the bed, but she was close enough now to lean over and kiss his forehead.

And that was exactly what she did.

Lance felt like absolute fucking shit.

This was a dumb fucking idea. Probably the dumbest fucking idea he'd ever had.

He didn't even want to die; at least, not really. Every video he'd watched, every article he'd read about suicide, the survivor explained that they just didn't feel anything anymore. That nothing worked, nothing helped. Nothing made the upward battle of survival any easier for them.

But Lance still felt, and that was the problem, he decided. He still felt every damn thing.

He still felt angry. He still felt hurt. He still felt like he wanted to rip his entire torso open and throw every organ he had, hard, against the ground. (And then probably stomp on them.) (And then give them the finger.)

And he still felt love for Keith.

He wished he didn't. But he couldn't make it go away.

And that was why he tried to... y'know. Die, or whatever.

He didn't want to deal with it anymore. Keith. This weird feeling he kept tucked away in his chest.

For a boy.

He wasn't even really mad at Keith anymore. The party felt like so long ago now, he could barely even remember the details.

Keith wasn't even the problem anymore.

Keith was just the trigger.

Anyway...

Lance tucked himself against his mother's chest.

"It's okay, sweetheart," she told him, and he could feel her shaking. "It's all alright now."

"I love you," Lance told her, and he was shaking, but not crying; not quite. "I love you a lot, mom."

"Oh, Lance, I love you too. I love you so, so much. I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner... I was with your grandmother. I had my phone turned off when Ronnie called... I'm so sorry, honey, I should've..."

Lance reached for her hand, weakly, and she gripped his so hard it almost hurt.

"Is it because of your friend?" she whispered.

Lance was quiet, listening to the slow, steady beeps of his heartbeat on the monitor.

"I knew you were sad," she went on, "I knew you were hurting, Lance. But I never, ever thought..."

She was crying again, and Lance wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"I know you're fighting with Keith," she admitted finally, after she'd dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex from the little tray-table next to the bed. "I know you two are very close... I know he's your best friend --"

"Mami," Lance cut in, before he could think about what he was saying, the implications behind it, voice not breaking, already broken, "he's not just my friend."

He let himself collapse, and his mother's face fell.

"Oh, sweetheart," she hushed him, rubbing his back firmly, her hand pressed hard against him. "Lo sé. Lo sé... I know. I know, I know, I know... Mami could tell. I could tell. I saw the way you looked at him... I knew you felt something for him. I knew you did. And I know you do... I know you still do, somewhere in there, Lance."

"I do," Lance admitted, tone almost a whine. "I just -- he means so much to me, but he did something stupid, and it wasn't that big of a deal, but -- it really hurt, and then -- and then I did stupid stuff too, and now he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Lancey," his mother whispered. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you at all."

"He does," Lance sobbed, nodding frantically. He was letting everything out, and he was a storm -- he was an old building, foundation cracking and crumbling down. "And it's my fault."

"It's not your fault. Look at me -- it's not your fault." Lance looked up at her, and her face was set, stern -- he had to listen to her. "Now. I don't know what Keith did," she told him, 'and I don't know what you did. But i know that you care about him, and I know that he cares about you."

Lance didn't know what to say to that.

They were quiet for a little while longer.

"... Is that why?" His mother asked.

"Why..." Lance led on.

"Is that the reason why..." He felt her swallow, felt the rise and fall of her chest as she sighed. "Is that why you... wanted to leave?"

Lance thought about that.

"...No," he whimpered. "I just... nothing is right and I hate everything and I didn't want to do it anymore. Any of it."

"Oh, baby," his mom whispered. She hugged him so tight, he could feel his ribs shifting. "What do you not like?"

"Myself," Lance whispered, "it's like I just hate myself and I hate my body and I hate who I am as a person and -- and Keith made all of that go away for a while, but then -- then he did that thing, and..." he hiccuped, hard, and his throat and stomach burned from all the liquor and the vomiting, "and I just can't do it anymore."

It was too much. Lance couldn't hold back anymore.

He just broke the fuck down.

His mother didn't say anything else.

Just held him. And held him, and rocked him, and hummed to him, until he slipped into a foggy, heavy sleep.

The others came back the next day.

Hunk, Pidge, and Allura skipped school, and Shiro drove them back to the hospital. Veronica was waiting for them at the front doors. Smiling.

"Hey," she said, with open arms. "Thanks for coming back. Lance is pretty excited to see you guys."

"How's he doing?" Pidge asked. It had gotten warmer overnight, and the rain wasn't sharp anymore against the windows.

Veronica grimaced. "Well... he's sick. He's got a wicked headache, and he says his stomach really hurts... he's kind of out of it, and he's really sensitive to light and sounds. So, you know. Be gentle with him."

Shiro nodded. Allura squeezed Pidge's hand.

Veronica led them down the hall. "He's in the kids' wing," she explained, "and whenever they have a youth patient, they give them a complimentary security blanket... Lance got this big fluffy blue one. He's obsessed with it."

Pidge smiled sadly to herself, welling up. She thought about that. About stupid Lance and his stupid blue blanket.

She promised herself she wasn't gonna cry. Not now, and definitely not in front of him. God.

Veronica poked her head around a curtain. "Hey. You've got some visitors," she said softly... Pidge could hear stirring; the rustling of sheets.

Veronica pulled the curtain open to let them inside, beckoning them in.

"Guys," Lance whispered, grinning. He was wide awake, and sitting up in bed; his hands were folded in his lap, and Pidge tried not to stare at the hospital band wrapped around his too-thin, shredded-up wrist.

He was hooked up to at least two or three different machines, and he was whiter than they'd ever seen him... but he was alive.

Alive... he was alive.

Hunk was already on the verge of a meltdown. "Hey," he choked.

Lance smiled at him. "Hey, man, how are you?"

"I'm okay," Hunk got out. They all just kind of stood there awkwardly, not sure if it was okay to hug him or not, like they might crush him. (They probably could crush him; Lance was so frail now, like a dried-up leaf.) "How... how are you?"

Lance shrugged. He played with his admission bracelet. "Well, I'm not dead."

Allura tried to laugh. "Is that a good thing?"

Lance stopped smiling. "... Depends on my mood," he admitted. (He looked weak. Like he'd been drained. Like he'd given up.)

"Chairs," Veronica said suddenly. She looked around the room for a moment, like there was something she wanted to say -- or like she was looking for someone, Pidge thought -- then left, slipping the curtain closed behind her.

Shiro nodded. "... You're not doing so well, huh."

It wasn't a question. It was a fact. A statement.

Lance ran his hands through his dumbass blanket. "No," he sighed. "I'm really not."

Pidge looked at him. (He looked terrible. She didn't want to look at him. It hurt, so bad, to look at him.)

She couldn't help it... she started to cry.

Shiro put a hand, the fake one, on her shoulder, then decided that wasn't enough and wrapped an arm around her. "You really scared us," she whispered. Her throat hurt, and it burned to speak.

Lance's eyes clouded over, bigger than his stomach. (They were barely blue anymore.) "I'm sorry," he got out, "I... I didn't think this would hurt anybody." Hunk walked over to the bed and sat in the one seat next to it, taking Lance's hand and running his thumb across his palm. Lance rolled into his pillow, watching their hands.

"Of course this hurt us," Shiro said. "Lance... all of us here, we -- we all love you, so, so much." His voice fell to a whisper. "Don't you know that?"

The room was quiet but for the hum of the machinery and the regular beeping pattern of the heartbeat monitor.

"I know," Lance breathed. His voice broke, and he was shivering. "And I-I love you guys too... I love all of you."

And then none of them were afraid of crushing him anymore.

They swarmed him, and they were all crying, and Lance laughed beneath the pile, wrapping his arms around them all. "Thanks for coming, guys," he whispered. "I love you."

"We love you, too!" Pidge cried. She was shaking, and she was so fucking sad, but so fucking relieved that Lance was okay -- it was like a block of stone had been lifted from her shoulders, like the storm had rolled away.

Hunk whispered something, so quiet you could barely catch it, to Lance and Lance only, and Lance's face fell. "He what?" Pidge caught him whispering back.

Hunk just nodded, so slightly that if you weren't paying attention, you wouldn't notice it at all.

Veronica came back with a few chairs, two in each hand, and Lance sat back against his pillow, like Hunk had given him something to think about.

Once the others all left, Lance had made up his mind.

He didn't have his phone with him, so he got Veronica to send the message.

There were rumours following Keith like ghosts.

Rumours about what had happened to Lance. And none of them were right.

Some people said car crash. Some people said concussion, from one of his sports...

Some were about Keith.

People were piecing it together. And Keith had no idea what they would do if it clicked.

It was passing periods, and Keith was walking through the hall... he could hear the whispers.

"Did you hear? Lance McClain fought Keith Kogane in the Alley yesterday. Keith sent him to the hospital..."

Keith put up his hood.

"Really?"

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Yeah; I heard Kogane came on to him."

"No way!"

"Fuck," Keith cussed. False.

"Oh my fucking, god, dude, that's humiliating. Did Keith touch him?"

"God, imagine if Keith Kogane fucking flirted with you, dude."

"Don't even put that thought into my head!"

"I'd fight him, too!"

Fuck the rest of this day, Keith decided. There was only one period left anyway; he just dipped.

Once he got about a block away from the school -- fuck that place -- he started to run.

He ran all the way home. It was only about two-fifty, maybe, at this point, but it was already starting to get dark outside. SAD season again.

They thought he assaulted Lance. They thought he touched him. (Well, Keith had touched him before, but never like that. Never if he didn't want to.)

Keith collapsed at the dining table. The dog scrambled up to him and rest her head in his lap, butt wiggling in excitement.

"Hey, buddy," Keith mumbled, smiling. The dog grinned up at him. "Good girl."

He folded his arms on the table and tucked his head between them.

God, he missed Lance. The missing him was like a weight in his lungs.

His phone chimed.

vmcclain: Hey.  
vmcclain: You okay?  
kogane-k: Yeah  
kogane-k: I'm ok.  
kogane-k: How are you?  
vmcclain: I'm okay, Keith. Thanks.

Keith took in a long, deep breath.

kogane-k: How is he?  
vmcclain: He's doing pretty well, actually.  
vmcclain: He misses you.

Keith's heart went still, and his breath caught in his throat.

Lance missed him?

After everything?

kogane-k: He does?  
vmcclain: Yeah. He does.

Keith watched the ellipses bubble up for a few minutes, holding his breath...

And then.

vmcclain: He wants to see you, Keith.

Keith had absolutely zero thoughts in his head. Head empty.

He grabbed his phone and his keys and his coat and called Shiro.

"Hey, this is Takashi."

"Hey, Shiro? It's Keith."

"Hey, Keith, what's up?"

"I-I hate to do this to you again, but... it's an emergency, I-I need a ride."

"No problem. Where to?"

"Uh, the hospital."

"... For Lance?"

Keith closed his eyes. "... Yeah. For Lance."

"I thought you guys were over..."

"Yeah, so did I... but I have to see him, Shiro, Veronica said he wants to see me, and -- and I have to see him, Shiro. Please."

"... Are you sure?"

"Honestly? No. I'm so scared, Shiro. I'm terrified. But Veronica said he misses me and, and that he wants me to come and visit -- and I have to go and see him. Please."

"... Okay. I'm on my way. Hold tight, buddy."

The car ride was so quiet, it was suffocating. 

It was still raining, and the drops beat quietly against the windshield. Keith stared straight ahead, at the angry, dark grey horizon. The wipers cut through the silence every few seconds... Keith felt as though he might cry.

Why should he cry? He wasn't the one lying in a hospital bed. He wasn't the one who wanted to die, who tried to --

... Keith gagged. He didn't like thinking about it.

"Hey," Shiro said finally. They were driving so slowly... He put on his turn signal and turned to Keith. "What happened with you two?"

"What?"

"You and Lance..." he said softly. His face was gentle in the static dark.

"Oh. Um." Keith took in a deep breath. "I... made a mistake," he said simply. "I made a really, really stupid mistake, and -- and now Lance hates me." He put his head in his hands. "This is all my fault."

Shiro turned his attention back to the road, jaw steady, unwavering. "Did you cheat on him?"

"... No."

Shiro sighed. "Keith... tell me what you did."

Keith breathed. In, one, two, three; out, one, two, three.

He told Shiro everything.

Right from the very beginning to now.

And once he was done, Shiro was quiet. "... So," he said finally, taken aback, "wow."

Keith nodded weakly. "Yeah."

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. "My name, huh?"

Keith stared at the floor. "Yeah..."

Shiro laughed sadly. "I mean, I'm flattered... but, Keith. No. C'mon."

"I know. I-I didn't mean to. It was really a mistake. I wasn't thinking about you, it was just -- I was a little jealous of you and the guy..."

"Adam."

"Yeah. Him. But I wasn't thinking about you. Honest."

"Well, now I'm a little less flattered," Shiro joked. Keith half-laughed. "Were you really in love with him?"

Keith thought about it. "Yeah," he decided. "I really was. And I really am... but, I just thought. I don't know. I didn't it was as serious for him as it was for me, y'know? Just cause I always thought he was this, like, super-straight guy, and -- I dunno. I guess I kinda thought I was his, like, gay test or whatever. Like if he was trying to figure out if he... y'know. Like boys, or whatever."

"I'm still trying to figure that out," Shiro muttered.

Keith nodded. "Yeah." Then -- "Wait, what? Shiro, you're queer?"

Shiro sighed. "I don't know," he said, "I just... me and Adam, we're kind of a thing, I guess, but -- I don't know if I'm gay or bi or, I don't know, what else is there, pansexual?" He sighed again, sharply. "But I know that I'm attracted to him. He's good. He's... he's great. I just don't really understand myself yet."

Keith nodded.

Holy fuck. Shiro was queer.

And yet another holy fuck: Keith barely cared.

Before, Keith would've cared. Before, this would've been an opportunity...

But not anymore. This Keith could give less of a shit about Queer Shiro, because this Keith was in love with a dying boy, and he needed to go and see him.

"It's been a really weird couple of weeks, huh," Keith muttered.

Shiro laughed. "You got that right."

They were almost there now, and it was brighter in the city, lights rainbow-bright even through the hazy grey. It was never truly dark here. "Hey..." Shiro said, "kid."

"Yeah?"

"Do you love him?"

Did Keith love Lance?

... Of course he did. There was no way he couldn't love him -- no way he couldn't recognize this as a blessing. (Not this certain situation they found themselves in as of right now -- just. Lance in general.

Of course he loved him.

With everything he had.

"Of course I do," he told Shiro. "With all my heart."

"Are you sorry?"

"Absolutely."

"So tell him," Shiro said. They pulled up to the curb in front of the hospital; Keith swallowed nervously, realizing what he was about to do. Shiro turned to him, and Keith had no choice but to believe him, "He'll forgive you, Keith. I know Lance, and I know he cares about you."

Keith held his breath and nodded. "Thanks."

Shiro smiled. "Anytime."

Keith put on a brave face and went inside.

Keith hated hospitals. 

They were these white, sterile labyrinths of the sick and dying... and his boyfriend was trapped in here, somewhere.

Well. Maybe not his boyfriend as of right now.

But hopefully, Keith was about to change that.

He found the pediatric ward... for little kids. (Lance really was just a little kid... a little kid, a lost boy who never grew up.) (Who tried to stop growing up.)

Then he found Lance's bed.

He knew it was Lance's room because his mother was standing just outside the curtain, like she had been waiting for Keith. She smiled sadly and opened her arms when she saw him. "Hi, dear," she said softly, stepping towards him.

"Hey," Keith said, letting her hug him -- and hugging her back, as strange as it felt. "How's he doing?"

"I think he's sleeping right now," she said. She held Keith by the shoulders, smiling up at him. Why was she smiling at him like that? "You can still go on in and see him though, if you'd like."

Keith nodded. "Thanks..."

Lance's mom kept smiling at him. "He loves you very much," she told Keith, nodding like it was a certifiable fact. "And I think it would be very good for him to see you right now."

Keith nodded. Something warm spilled in his gut at the word 'love', and he had goosebumps all over. "Okay," he agreed.

Lance's mother stepped back. "I'll go and get some coffee," she said. "I'll give you two some privacy..."

Keith nodded. Again. "Okay," he repeated.

She looked at him, smiled at him, for a little while longer, then turned away and padded down the hall.

Keith took in a deep breath. 

He pulled the curtain open, just a crack. 

Lance was there, in the bed. He was asleep, but if Keith hadn't known any better, he'd think he had died.

Keith had never seen him so hollow... he was so pale, and so thin; like his bones were glowing right through his skin. 

But he was still so pretty, so beautiful, and Keith was still so in love with him.

It took Keith all the strength in his body to take baby steps forward, just lightly, to the chair next to the bed. He sat down, carefully, and watched Lance breath for a few minutes. "Hey," he brought himself to whisper eventually.

Lance pressed his eyes shut, tight, then slowly peeled them open. He focused on Keith...

And he smiled.

"Hey," he whispered back. (Keith's heart leaped in his chest. At least Lance wasn't yelling at him anymore.)

"How're you feeling?"

Lance shrugged. "I'm okay... you?"

"I... I'm fine..."

They were quiet. Keith cleared his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Keith," Lance whispered before Keith got the chance. "I..."

"No, no, hey, what?" Keith cut in, surprised. "Why are you sorry? I cam to apologize to you, I'm the one who should be sorry."

"No, it's just..." Lance said quickly, shaking his head. "What you did, it -- it was shitty, yeah, but I really overreacted, and I'm so sorry, Keith. It wasn't that big of a deal, but I made it into a big thing, and I shouldn't have... I said some really awful things to you, and I feel terrible about it, Keith, and I'm sorry." He was tucked beneath this fuzzy blue blanket... "I'm sorry."

"No," Keith said again. "Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything. You were right, actually, for most of what you said and did. It was my fault, I -- I did something stupid, and I didn't mean to, and I'm sorry."

"Keith, I tried to fight you," Lance whispered.

"Justifiably... Lance, I -- you tried to kill yourself."

It hit Keith, then, full-force -- Lance had tried to kill himself. "You... you wanted to end your life, and it's my fault," Keith whispered, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lance. I'm so, so sorry."

"That's not it, Keith; that's not why," Lance said quickly, reaching for Keith's hand. Keith was so surprised, he let him hold it. "I mean, it was -- it was the last straw, but. I've been sad for a really, really long time, and I was messed up -- I was on something, like, all the time, and... it's not your fault. I just liked you, a lot, and I thought you liked me too, but I guess you didn't, and --"

"Of course I did!" Keith said, too loud, nearly yelling. He sprung up from his chair and his hand fell out of Lance's, and Lance sat back, eyes wide. "Of course I liked you, and of course I still like you! I love you!" Keith was waving his arms around now, for emphasis. "I love you, Lance! And, yeah, I know I said Shiro's name, but I wasn't thinking about him, he was just in the back of my mind cause I just saw him with another guy, and I had a crush on him, so that hurt, but it was just a crush, Lance! I only had a crush on Shiro! I just wanted to kiss him, but with you -- I like you so much more than I ever like him, and I want to do so much more with you! I wanna hang out with you, I wanna do stuff with you, I wanna -- take you out on walks and on dates and I want to just yell from the fucking roof how awesome I think you are. I think you're so goddamn cool, Lance McClain, and I wanna be with you for a really long time, and you have no idea how sorry I am that I hurt you. I'm sorry I fucked everything up. I love you, and I just... I just want you again." Keith's voice fell, and he was crying hard now -- he couldn't help it anymore. Hearing everything he felt out loud made him feel so much more pathetic, but everything he'd said was the truth. He had no regrets. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, "and -- and I just miss you, a lot. So if you'll forgive me, can we please, please not fight anymore?"

Lance blinked. "You love me?" he whispered.

Keith nodded. "Of course I do." 

Lance looked down at his lap, wringing his hands. "I don't have a crush on Allura," he said simply, wetly. "I mean, I did a long time ago, but... I just said all that to hurt your feelings. And the stuff about everybody hating you -- I made that up, too. A lot of people actually think you're really cool. I'm so, so sorry I said all those mean things, Keith. And -- and I missed you, too."

Keith nodded, confused. "Okay... I-I forgive you, Lance."

Lance fiddled with his bracelet. "And... I forgive you, too," he added. "And also I love you."

Keith blinked.

Then he broke out into a smile. "I love you the most."

Lance laughed. "Nuh-uh. Not possible."

Keith laughed with him, and his face and stomach and heart were all glowing warm. 

Lance held out his hands. "Wanna be boyfriends again?"

Keith nodded. "Yes. Absolutely."

He took Lance's hands, and Lance pushed himself up towards him, and Keith leaned down --

And then they were kissing. 

Kissing each other again for the first time in weeks felt like the first breath of air after being underwater -- and it was the most amazing, most beautiful moment of each of their lives.

Keith held Lance, tight, and he swore to himself he'd never, ever let go again.

They fell asleep together, in the hospital bed, and Lance's mom swung by to check on them --

And, seeing her son and his wonderful boyfriend all cozied up together like that...

Well. It just warmed her heart.

Keith stirred, opening his eyes just slightly, and they made eye contact. He went bright red and startled, jumping just a little.

Lances mother smiled at him, reassuring, and although it took him a moment, Keith smiled back, holding her son, his boyfriend, just a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI just wanna say that the 'you love me?' line was in the original transcript even BEFORE she-ra s5, haha guys i can't believe noelle stevenson paraphrased my voltron fic guys >:D jk jk
> 
> anyWAY klance is back together now !! yay !! next chapter is mostly just soft, so now that ur done w all the angst you can have a little Fluff, As A Treat


	13. so anyway

unfortunately i will NOT be continuing this fic. the ending is pretty much just blah blah blah KLANCE blah blah blah, anyway.

voltron has become a pretty major trigger for me, so i'd rather not force myself to write about it anymore.

anyway yeah. sorry if i let anyone down, kick

-cedar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats it :)
> 
> yeah if this sucked u can blame me from 2018, she had no idea what she was doing when she wrote the original version of this fic and just wanted some self-indulgent k l a n c e
> 
> and also blame present me for being awful at editing
> 
> anyway if u stuck around this long ily. kick!! its da klance revolution babey

**Author's Note:**

> thx, leave kudos and uhhhh comments if you liked it :))


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